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

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