The [Face]Book of Inspiration, Part III

The title of each poem will be shown as it was written on Facebook. And beneath it the first name and last initial of whoever presented it.

A second chance/redemption
Andrew K.

I believe in second,
and fourth chances

sometimes more

because my heart and my mind and the place
that is supposed to say, “hey, stop that”
is having technical difficulties
and sorry, it can’t come to the phone right now
it’s busy, if you could just
try back later,
but please, for the love of everything holy,
do not leave a message.

I’m not sure if it’s because I believe in you
or because I refuse to believe people,
even strangers,
aren’t worth my time.

A day of a lifetime is still a day.

So I have trouble letting go,
giving up,
just because I wasn’t your first thought,
your first call,
your first anything, really.

Because whether new or old you all act the same,
attentiveness dependent on the frame
of mind: do you think of me?

Would you give me a second chance,
a third,
a fourth?

Or does stubbornness not quite sit
as easily in the belly of your bones
as it does in mine

do you not seek, seek, seek
in hopes to find
a memory or passing thought
that justifies the asking of
how I’ve been?

I give fifth and sixth and seventh chances to people
I’ve known the longest:

they crack your heart into
the tiniest of shards
hardest to clean up—
you know,
years later,
you’ll still find specks of glass
emotional soot
that finds its way into everything.

I’d prefer the instability of you,
the predictability of your inability
to care,

it’s better than the millionth chance
you’ve given
to someone who knows
you have a million chances to give,
that anything they do,
you’ll eventually forgive—

listening to your messages
because you just can’t help it.

Lisbeth R.

My love for you is meteoric,
punctuated by rawrs into the night,
a single light
ever burning,
catching fire,
our world in ashes
humanity, the eventual phoenix.

The crippling power of FB
Michelangelo C.

It’s so easy to see
how you’re doing,
so why would I ever ask?

I’d rather just bask in the light
of your selfies
to the naked eye
you look so damn content

your life in constant activity
a proclivity toward saying
everything you feel,
because this connection for you, is so damn real,
that when you realize how alone you really are,
you go back to swiping:

for me, this is the only place
with walls we build up
to bring us closer.

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