The past two days, social media has really killed my opinion of people. People with good jobs, wonderful families, newborn babies or those soon on the way, are just tiny lonely people, looking for some sort of odd acceptance. How can people use the death of a lion to pander for likes. I'm not talking about those asking for justice or those commenting on how sad they are, but those who have twisted it to mean something else...to essentially, make it about themselves and their warped values. Ten, twenty, fifty likes. The more Trumpesque the better. The more hate in their words, the greater the count, feeding the frenzy until the comments filled with rage come out, about a completely irrelevant topic. Words like extinguish, kill and purge are used. I imagine the grin on the writer, as his pride beams. He sits back in the comfort of his home, basking in the glow of the computer or phone, feeling good about himself. Little does he realize, he's just made himself even smaller. He doesn't care, because the like counter grows, as does his imagined power; much like the hunter, his kill list nearing 50.
I sit back and I write something from the heart. For me and me only. Friends of course, welcome to share in it, because for me, I want to know of their thoughts and (maybe foolishly) believe they care of mine. Someone else writes of their experience abroad and how they found something they'd been lacking. Two, three likes, a comment or emoji, to let them know we saw it. While others fawn over the dead daily, despite the death being years ago. Twenty, thirty likes within an hour. The "thinking of yous" pour in. "I'm here" they exclaim....and they are, right in your likes list. Mission accomplished, as their existence is giving some minuscule meaning. The twisted ankles, the scraped knees, the ridiculous amounts of doctor's visits for the common cold, all like heavy, while a friend's heart pours out about something dear and goes unnoticed and she needs the likes. Not for her self worth, but because it's important that when people take the world into consideration, it's recognized. She benefits nothing from her post, but to let others know she shares in their struggle. Seven likes, while the post demeaning an entire race gets seventy. Maybe it's time I stop liking posts of other's happiness and start posting that I wish they could experience the hate they dole out. I wonder, how many likes that would get?
I sit back and I write something from the heart. For me and me only. Friends of course, welcome to share in it, because for me, I want to know of their thoughts and (maybe foolishly) believe they care of mine. Someone else writes of their experience abroad and how they found something they'd been lacking. Two, three likes, a comment or emoji, to let them know we saw it. While others fawn over the dead daily, despite the death being years ago. Twenty, thirty likes within an hour. The "thinking of yous" pour in. "I'm here" they exclaim....and they are, right in your likes list. Mission accomplished, as their existence is giving some minuscule meaning. The twisted ankles, the scraped knees, the ridiculous amounts of doctor's visits for the common cold, all like heavy, while a friend's heart pours out about something dear and goes unnoticed and she needs the likes. Not for her self worth, but because it's important that when people take the world into consideration, it's recognized. She benefits nothing from her post, but to let others know she shares in their struggle. Seven likes, while the post demeaning an entire race gets seventy. Maybe it's time I stop liking posts of other's happiness and start posting that I wish they could experience the hate they dole out. I wonder, how many likes that would get?
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