Captcha
by Sam Grudgings
I can select all the street signs from a picture to prove I am human. Living
vicariously through screens is nothing special. Idly watching herds of “click me
for true love” promises battling it out for the supremacy of my attention, is not
indicative of the condition of being, is it? Innumerable constructs yelling
approximate translations at one another for the entertainment of a god who
doesn't care. Is that it? Is it?
Hands up if you didn't read the terms and conditions before being carnate.
I think youth is a cult you escape and I don't think homesickness
has a cancellation period, same way I'm not convinced there is a trial period
on love. It's probably a binary command indicated by distance. Old bedrooms
and their attendant regret coupled with yelling “you stupid fuck” at yourself
can be considered grief counselling or relationship advice
depending on context.
I've been responding to all the weekly emails I'm signed up to, sending my love
to their family and thanking them warmly for thinking of me this season,
noting that yes, my sense of ennui would be complemented by a sex toy
kitchen gadget combo. It is for the same reason that I use dating websites
when I visit home for the holidays and think of all the people I went to school with
who I will never fuck because they died,
of the ones that remain someone styles themself as the best fuck
in all of Basingstoke, I remember that he pushed me into lockers and spat at me
for holding a boys hand once, I do not regret that I didn't recognise it
as naked animal lust at the time.
The top five songs that made you cry but don’t touch the sides any more
because your understanding of the past has changed and the lyrics that seemed
so relevant seem to miss the point, are the ones I suspect they will play
at your funeral, songs that don’t really matter much to you any more is how
everyone will be remembered.
I suppose it’s not too much to expect to be remembered.
Shout out to all the kids who got out of growing up in small towns, I'm sure
the lost and found on the high street has retained our childhoods longer
than the open door policy on other precious possessions should allow.
If the budget allowed , I would pour one out to those who were never true
to themselves because lies taste so much better when you’re filling in
online forms to talk, as it stands I’ll clutch this to myself and bluescreen out.
So what have you done recently to prove you exist?
about Sam (he/him/his)
Sam J Grudgings is a poet perpetually on the edge of collapse.
His work explores masculinity & the complicity of privilege as well as addiction, loss & horror. He's more used to yelling his poems at audience than at paper.
He can be found naked on the internet & in real life.
IG, FB + YouTube: @samjgrudgings
Twitter: @storygiverpoet