Why is it I give (I mean get) so little on here?
I post, I share my rage.
I care about what’s happening to the world, what I’m saying.
It’s not a joke.

The way you don’t talk about it, what’s happening:
I do.  
I study it, I declare it.

Nothing comes back.
Not a nod, not a wink.
All the things I think:
Why does nobody click?

I texted British Transport Police.
“See it, say it, sort it,” they said,
and yet when I explain microplastics, they just make eyes like, 
“Fuck off.”

Is it the algorithm or is it me?  

Is it the way I talk, how I sit or 
am I just shit?

If you comment on an issue of the day,
friends in double-digits add nuance, affirming you.

Not me.
At best, a former pupil snots up to disagree.

Sure, I’ve everything on the outside, if I toss the mouse a moment –
smiling kids – a house with food.
All of it.

There’s a woman who dotes on me.
Bank accounts are green. I’m bounding over fields.

If I step away with my two good legs,
I appreciate Ethiopian coffee.

But here, 
as I share what’s most oppressing,
I am depressing.

I’m so tiresome to people.
I don’t half know why.

At school I never got picked,
because I was shit.

I’ve tried to share the cuteness of a pet, 
a crafted dish with oxide slips, splashing kids in water.
I got three likes, and a US cousin said,
“What a lovely daughter!”

My mum, 
unhappily drunk, 
once asked me, “Do you think I’m shit David?  
Am I shit?”
I shook my head 
and looked back down at the floor.