There is a new language spoken not by the geeks and nerds, but by the young and the fresh.  It is a language emphasized by the desire to make sure you look just right. If it's not right, try it again. Purse your lips, tip your head, raise your eyebrows, click.

Try, try, try again. Maybe if you apply just the right filter, you'll like what you see. All the while, life is passing you by.  You just missed your future spouse, because you were worried about what your friends would say about your instagossip story if you posted that selfie. 

Sometimes you're in the same place as your friends, but you're really alone.  You're snapping a selfie with them, but you've got to make sure you look good first.  It's a language I don't understand.  I thought pictures were to remember a good time.  You spend so much time taking the picture you forget to have a good time.  You moved the same piece of hair twenty-five times,  and I couldn't even tell the difference in real time or the photo.  I got bored and walked away. I don't speak Selfie. 

When I was growing up, there were geeks and nerds who spoke languages like Elvish and Klingon, and I was jealous because they were in a community with like minded people.  I really loved the movies they were so dedicated to, but I didn't have the time to dedicate to those movies or communities. They would get together with other people and figure out these made up languages and have some fun.  

You have a made up language too, but each of you have your own dialect.  It's similar to other people's, but just enough different that you can't quite speak with the other Selfieish speakers. I know because I watch you flutter around each other, but never able to connect with one another. 

I feel so bad for all of you. You long for the connection, but you can't connect because you won't disconnect. I suppose you are in a community of the like minded, but you focus on yourself so...you mind only yourself.  Narcissism is by definition an excessive interest in yourself.  I guess we have created a generation of Narcissists.  We've given you the technology and rewarded you with filters to make you feel like you like yourselves more. 

I look at you on instagossip sites and I don't even know you. You filter yourself so much, I doubt you know you. You do know that you can't change the things you don't like with a filter, right. By the way, you can't have your cell phone in prison.  So, you will have to learn to live with the real you.  The unfiltered you may be hard to live with since the accident.

I'm glad your beautiful face is intact.  I'm glad you weren't hurt, at least physically. I wish you knew that beauty was more than skin deep.  It sounds like a simple cliche, but it, well, it's more than that to me.  My grandpa was old and wrinkly to you.  You wouldn't have wanted him in your snaps. You would have had to retake any picts he inadvertently photobombed.  But, he was beautiful.  He gave to everyone in every way.  His soul glowed from within. 

I hope your selfie was worth it. Because,  your selfie took my grandfather's life. I forgive you, but you've doomed yourself to a lifetime of torture without your filters.  Good luck with that. And, I'll never speak or understand the narcissistic language of Selfieish. 

I've seen my blood run out

Strange, it doesn't hurt

Stranger yet, it relieves the pain

Even stranger, I don't want it to stop.

I've seen my tears run red as blood

Strange it doesn't hurt

Stranger yet, it gives a painful release

Even stranger, I don't want them to stop.

Death seems a respite from the pain

The pain of always falling short

Death seems a relief from being an outsider

An outsider in your own home

Death seems to be your friend

Your closest friend.

Remember your terrible grief...

Do that to someone else...never

How to move forward, to feel well

What do I do?

Still, I see the red lines running down my arms

Still, I want to quit life

Still, I feel useless

Still, I feel HATE

Hate drives me to ruin

Hate is wrong...

Hate is bitterness

Hate is slowly killing me

What is the object of my hate?

Me

My shortcomings

My thoughts

My body

Why do I hate?

Because I suck!

Because I'm never good enough

Because I never do things quite right

Because I can't be everything to everybody

My efforts are never enough

I'll never be good enough

I'll never love enough

I am worthless

While some authors write to pay the bills or to create "The Great American Novel," I write for something else.  I write for the self-reflection and the healing afforded to me through such actions.  I've found my own therapist in writing, a paper and pencil.  To me, the written word can take me away from my problems, but by writing my own words, I can achieve a sense of perspective not previously allowed to me. So many things, when seen in a different light, can be life changing.  Your problems, once the size of mountains, are now just small bumps in the road.  The succor gained from writing is why I do it.