If You're Reading This (an internet poem)

 

(Image source) 

If you’re reading this, you are reading a poem, and I know people hate poetry. Always so precious, confusing, and obscure! ("A parade of pompous erudition.")

As I write, I can assure you this it won't be precious or obscure. But a confusing parade of random words? No promises. 

If you're reading this, it's by choice; you won't ever be assigned a poem like this. 

If you’re reading this on the internet, you are not working; instead, you're wasting time on the internet.  But your timepass keeps us going, so please keep reading this.

If you’re reading this, you're waiting for me to get to the point. 

If you’re reading this in an uncluttered room with a view of the ocean and the sound of seagulls, I am envious. As I'm writing this, I am suburban as shit with the A/C on.

If you're reading this, I have you the reader in my mind's eye. I need you more than you know, more than I know how to say. 

If you’re reading this in Delhi, Bombay, or Taiwan, either I’m asleep right now, or you’re up late, or we’re both awake, but worlds apart. Consider the gap in time and space. How can we connect?

If you’re reading this looking for lyrical precision and poetic language hard and rhythmic and perfect like a diamond... sorry. This poem is a dusty mirror in a forsaken hallway on the internet.

If you’re reading this in a toilet stall, come back tomorrow, same time. You know what to do.

If you're reading this, would it kill you to let me know you read this? 

If you’re still reading this, let me thank you as I am still writing this.

Now, done. Cheers!

[Revised slightly since the original post. Cross-posted at SM]