Ode to Being Ignored

bumblebee-mimosa-Lake-Luxembourg-07-05-18-s

Bumblebee in Mimosa Tree

I’ve been wondering as of late,

Why is it that my Social Media posts do not rate,

Nary a like or retweet, share or comment?

How I wish for a little acknowledgement.

Fortunately friends occasionally impart,

With a heart, or even a remark,

A few kind words sometimes left to be seen,

Yet even those seem to be few and far in between.

These feelings take me back to my high-school days,

Life was a drag while living in a daze,

Looking for acceptance amongst the gloom and haze,

The contempt I felt from most everyone’s disdain.

I go through periods of highs and lows,

Perhaps I’m schizophrenic; God only knows.

My moods tear me apart every now and then,

Will they ever stop? I wish I knew when.

Nobody knows you when you’re down and out,

Why is that? What’s that all about?

Is it me who is selfish, filled with all this self-doubt,

Or is it they who are continually running off their big mouths?

Everyone’s entitled to a sporadic meltdown,

So allow me to continue, and please don’t frown,

About my being so melancholy with tears of a clown,

Worrying my destination is certainly hell bound.

You probably say I always complain,

Or think I’m actually going insane.

Or perhaps you don’t even give a damn,

Thinking, why do I always have to be a ham?

Is it attention I seek?

Because of none I feel so bleak.

Am I worthless and dumb?

Might as well be a bum.

So far this poem has two hundred and sixty-four words.

Has any of my rantings up to now even been heard,

Read by someone who doesn’t think this is absurd,

Utter nonsense, poppycock, balderdash, for the birds?

Getting back to my original premise,

Are my offerings on here worse than a blemish,

A pimple, a scab, a lesion, something oh, so bad,

That not a simple mention makes me feel so sad?

A friend once said I should stop with all this self-pity,

Drink a cup of tea, which should work for me,

By adding some sugar to stop from being such a moaning bugger!

Great advice, made me want to hug her; too bad she lives across the sea.

Funny, as I am writing this,

Another friend on Facebook gave me a little bliss,

By commenting on a post made this afternoon,

About a bumblebee in a mimosa tree, with flowers in bloom.

See? It doesn’t take much to make me happy,

My mood has changed from being so sappy,

Wonderful sensations of pleasing self-worth,

Fill my aura, quenching my thirst.

Hoping someone will read these words of rhyme,

Understand my intermittent dilemma; won’t you please be so kind,

By taking a second from your day, just a little bit of time,

To say something constructive, go ahead, now it’s your dime?

This poetic rant and rave will now cease,

Five-hundred words have almost been reached;

Until the next time my insecurity doth raise,

I do promise to behave.

As always, thanks for stopping by and for your continued support.

About Mike Slickster

As an early retiree with an honorary doctorate degree from the proverbial "School of Hard Knocks," this upcoming author with a lot of free time on his hands utilizes his expansive repertoire for humorous yet tragic, wildly creative writing that contains years of imaginative fantasy, pure nonsense, classic slapstick, extreme happiness and searing heartbreak; gathered by a wealth of personal experiences throughout his thrilling—sometimes mundane or unusually horrid—free-spirited, rock-'n'-roller-coaster ride around our beloved Planet Earth. Mike Slickster's illustrious quest continues, living now in Act Three of his present incarnation, quite a bit on the cutting edge of profundity and philosophical merriment as seen through his colorful characters, most notably evident in the amusing Thirty Days Across the Big Pond series, all of which can be found at Lulu.com.
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1 Response to Ode to Being Ignored

  1. And as usual, not a comment, except from me, was left.

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