A Tumultuous Social Age

There is an existential void,

A calling to belong, pressures… annoyed.

A malevolent contest of who’s soul is complete,

A sophomoric malignancy, opportunity to compete.

An ailing way to be self aware, 

Misplaced feelings… a distortion of care. 

Your existence is measured by the more “somethings” you obtain,

Your soul is proportioned by the status you gain.

A source invented to make sure you feel failed,

Engagements, vacations, and bragging prevails.

Quantify your time by the moments you feel undeniably alive

And not by the phony photo opps to portray you survive.  

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