Liked – A Selfish Poem

No-one has liked me for a long, long time.

Not that I’m sorry. Not that I’m sad.

What must it be to be liked, constantly, repetitively,

over and over and over again.

So many phone calls,

so many texts,

so many stats to check.

What would be left of the me I like?

What would be left of of living?

Copyright owned by Jay Cool, September 2020

Published by The Silly-Savvy Salopian

Freelance writer and descendant of the cave dweller and outlaw, Humphrey Kynaston. Banished from Shropshire for my eccentricity, I have made my home in Suffolk. I write poetry, short stories, travel journals, comedy gig reviews and non-fiction articles. My wish is to write my way back into the heart of my birth land. All writing commissions (and free holidays in Shropshire!) considered.

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