hold the phone…
why is it in vogue
to prune and pout
when the phone is out
(which is of course
always)?
we point our toes,
we place our
front leg just there,
flick back
our head,
our hair,
to strike a pose!
hold the phone…
doesn’t matter if we’ve a beer in hand casual as can be,
or in our g-string bikini
breathing in vitamin sea
(but only seeing
the ever-present lens),
or when amongst wise old trees
forgetting to hug them
and not feeling the earth beneath our feet
because we’re simply
too busy
striking a pose!
hold the phone…
didn’t they used to be called snapshots?
a pic that captured special moments,
special views,
special connections,
or reflections and creations
to place in an album,
to lay on a coffee table,
to enjoy and revisit and share together
for years on end –
no longer in vogue –
only thing in vogue now is this unhealthy perpetuation
our desire to
strike a pose…
hold the phone!
we’ve witnessed the death of the photo,
the birth of
the selfie
(the cult of the selfie)
as all the vogue,
now all photos are called selfies
even when it’s not a selfie
because it’s someone else that’s clicking madly
capturing us
as we overtly
strike a pose
oh hold the phone instagram husbands,
and snap a hundred times,
always aiming to get the best angle
as your partners demand false perfection,
digital,
erase-able,
the perfect shot is there somewhere,
maybe
all of us are instagrammable
if we flick and pout and prance about
like a picture of a beauty queen
on the cover of a magazine
like vogue,
striking a pose
hold the phone…
are we not beautiful
as we are?
are we not enough
as we are?
are we not unique and natural and ordinary and special
as we are?
why have we not already
stopped
objectifying women?
oh strike a light
we are a ridiculous sight,
why do we
feel the need to
always strike a pose?
