Smash the typewriter over your head:
the advice I'd give you in pre-computer times,
which neither of us were alive for
anyway.
But now, I watch you
scowling at your computer, pounding the keys, hell-bent
on spinning the thread of an idea
into a fine web of words.
I want to laugh as you find your lip, bite
it in frustration.
Burden not the world with your gilded
paradoxes and epiphanies.
Be not a false writer, a sensationalist.
You'd be better off binding your wrists,
ignoring the blinking cursor,
tossing the mouse out the window.
the advice I'd give you in pre-computer times,
which neither of us were alive for
anyway.
But now, I watch you
scowling at your computer, pounding the keys, hell-bent
on spinning the thread of an idea
into a fine web of words.
I want to laugh as you find your lip, bite
it in frustration.
Burden not the world with your gilded
paradoxes and epiphanies.
Be not a false writer, a sensationalist.
You'd be better off binding your wrists,
ignoring the blinking cursor,
tossing the mouse out the window.
This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.
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