You locked us up!

You locked me up! And my brother, he’s younger you know. Oh yeah and my mum, too.

For weeks and weeks, while you were busy elsewhere. 

After we had been in there a bit my mum stopped working.

Some weeks from that I stopped missing my friends so much.

You told us nothing but to stay in there.

My brother is not as old as me, you know. He can’t do what I can. And he doesn’t want to, so he fights my mum.

I fight him and her, and then we can do what we want for a while but somehow it hurts. 

While you were busy elsewhere, we were less and less busy in there. 

You were doing important things every day and telling my parents about it every night. 

But you talked only of other people. 

My mum held my brother, and fought the school people, then one day she stopped teaching my brother. On the TV you talked about everyone else. 

The Decade of the Selfie

This was originally a picture of a 38-year-old. Through some easy digital play it became a fictional picture of a fictional 14-year-old. Someone, whoever, who never was.

She never was. I was never her. She’s a hologram of obsessions, fixations, shallower than shallow expectations.

She’s a response to hundreds of daily media attacks on my body image, confidence and self worth. She’s a pill against anxiety and social comparison blues. She’s fake. She’s a lie. But she’s who I am supposed to want to be:

Sweet and fresh! Young, mute and smiling: agreeable! No thinking or talking please people because posing is obviously more important. Posing for you, and for my story.

Posing from close up, close like a lover.

In real life I would never allow strangers this close. But in the digital world, in the decade of the selfie, welcome! Welcome anyone. Welcome too close to someone who never was, to think of her what you will, to scroll on and on, the endless untrue selfies that fill your feed and mine.

xoxo, no

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