�Tom Is Not My Friend�

To look at my space
You’d think that I was perfect
People send me good vibes and messages
They flip through my photos
They trust my opinions
They know which way my switch is hitting…

But really I’m so lonely
Nobody ever calls
All I need are real arms to hold me
I’ve wasted all of my time here
And I cannot see an end-
Tom is not my friend

Now everyone finds me funny
My bulletins are loaded
With hits every minute creating instant comfort
But by the hours end-
You think we have connected
Just because you found the time to add me to your friend list

So my world is crumbling
Pixilated people will leave me here
All I wanted was a real hand to hold onto mine
I’ve wasted all of my time
And I cannot see an end-
Tom is not really my friend

And there is an error in my life….
 

Reviews

[Gary H]

Brilliant! I have two months to go before I can go out and behave like a mad lunatic again. Almost feel completely recovered after my back operation last year so this final couple of months is frustrating but my own target that I don't want to beat.
I've put all that because I do think I too could do with 'a real hand onto hold mine' now and I was reminded by Thomas Dylan how much of a cybernaut I have become - this really adds to that.
'And there is an error in my life....'

[Dancing On Words]

Hello, you're Leo too!
I wanted to add you
but I cannot.
I am sure we would see a lot
of common interests
on many proofs and tests.
You should manifest!
Please, please, at least be a friend
here on WritersCafe,
OK??
Chat a while with me...
I invite you for a cup of coffee or tea.

[M Lamont]

Well put! I stared to put all my writing stuff on my myspace page before I found this place. In the broader sense, how lonley and cold the superhighway can be at times!

[Six Impossible Things]

Ah how the internet can simultaneously make the world seem smaller while painting large gaps between humans.
I say-- screw christmas cards... send out a mass bulletin instead.

I love the phrase 'Pixilated people'. I should throw that in my vocabulary.

Sigh. It's so sad.

[R J Askew]

Forgot to say the title pulled me into this poem. Tis provocative and I instantly suspected what it would be about and sympathised with the thrust of it.

[R J Askew]

My wife says I'm addicted to MySpace and it is her or it. I tell her it's WritersCafe I'm addicted to but she does not understand the difference. At least here i you don't get friend ADDS from bands you will never hear of, or glamorous young girls in the Dutch Antilles with a passion for photography. Your poem is bang on. But i have read some great poetry on WritersCafe and some few very likeable poets, though there are one or two on my friends list I really must weed out as they pounced on me on day one and have never been heard of since.

[R. Gene MacDonald]

I want to send this to all my My Space Addicted friends. This is going straight into my faves. Nice job my Norwich friend!

[Tonya (the Night Writer..]

wow, so true. Some people collect friends on there as trophies and never even say hi. on the other hand, I have met a couple people there and here that I correspond with that have become good friends. i've been toying with the idea of writing a myspace poem myself (a humorous one). hope you posted this on your blog there if you still go there! : )

[Enigmatic Blur]

Isn't this on the wrong site?! (in joke for myspacers). I can relate to where this is coming from, it's something i've been pondering on since I started with internet madness. Enjoyable poem.

Paul

[TL Boehm]

wowwweeeeee. did this one thump me right between the eyes. As a writer - its my words that matter - or at least that's what I do - and that whole virtual world - hollow validation for the misunderstood writer, the unpretty girl no one would talk to. And while not on myspace (caught that - amazingly well done by the way) on another blog site - I get some attention tho never for my real work...again the hollowness.
So personally this resonates. Technically its a solid piece and its right on point - contemporary. Thoughtful.