Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Personal, Writing

Tweet Tweet

I hate the twitter algorithm.

I don’t need to know who liked what,

or who follows who.

I don’t need to know that everyone is giving Piers Morgan more digital oxygen than he deserves.

I don’t need to know that my ultra male feminist friend from school only uses his account to like violent porn videos, and send unwanted pictures to the women within them.

I don’t need to know that you liked another tweet, from that girl you worried I’d be jealous of.

I hate the twitter algorithm.

Last night,

we made a list,

of all the things we needed,

to build a home.

I wasn’t jealous until you mentioned it.

Why the fuck would you mention it?

Now I hate the bitch,

and I don’t even know the bitch.

It was late,

last night,

and I fell asleep,

dreaming of the things

that could tear down a home.

We were on honeymoon before,

but now there are cracks,

I couldn’t see,

until you accused me of being jealous,

jokingly,

but with case studies and examples,

and suddenly,

I started to worry,

that maybe I should be,

because if you’ve thought so much,

about how I’d react,

maybe I should react?

I hate the Twitter algorithm.

I hate you.

I hate the twitter algorithm.

I hate that you make me hate strangers on the internet.

I hate the twitter algorithm.

I hate that I love you.

And she’s eighteen,

and she’s pretty,

and she reminds me of me,

and she reminds me of before,

because pretty girls always seem to end up,

in situations I don’t approve of,

just like before,

with someone you never met,

who did things you aren’t responsible for,

and I can’t help,

but blame you for things you haven’t yet done,

spending Sunday,

preparing to press reject,

when you call,

crying into cider that I didn’t really want,

watching the same rom com as yesterday,

through a sadder lens,

because…

Because I hate the twitter algorithm.

You didn’t mean to awaken the paranoia,

or the insanity,

and it’s probably nothing,

but now,

there are cracks,

I couldn’t see,

until I woke up,

after you’d fallen asleep,

desperately damning that dream to a hell I can’t access,

so I don’t get lost,

in wishing you away,

in pushing you away,

because this situation feels the same.

I hate the twitter algorithm.

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