content creator
what am i, to the search function? what is my bleeding heart, my calloused hands, the sob in the gap between my ribs and my lungs, to the ticking of the reblog count?
i post art. i refresh my activity page every five minutes for three days, aching for engagement. a wordless reblog. a like from a bot. are you going to publish your writing, asks my coworker when I tell her that I am a poet.
I am, I say. I send my finished writing to my friends. #timezone reblog. look at me. look at my art.
look at my content. i post content to be nestled in between memes and asks. at the wrong time, perhaps. with the wrong tags, perhaps. i post content, I-
engage with me.
what is content, without an audience? what is an artist, if not content? what, to the algorithm, is poetry not reblogged within x hours?
recommended for you: an artist’s pleading cry. another’s lifetime.
after all, what is content unmanaged? what is an artist not posting on twitter, on tumblr, on instagram, carefully relatable, polished humanity? are you not a content creator? are you not that which chokes your own art before it ever leaves your palms so it might be worth a share?
- tick, tick, tick, goes the engagement counter. tick, tick, tick, goes the clock. come. consume me.
recommended for
you: an artist’s pleading cry.
another’s lifetime.
Beep boop! I look for accidental haiku posts. Sometimes I mess up.
