the real thing

I will never understand
these photographs
people take
of themselves
in front of mirrors

some shirtless
boasting
gratuitous muscle

others raging
thongs
and tanned cleavage

while still others
simply stare
and smile
like old
fashioned
narcissists

in their bedrooms
surrounded by
American flags
sports memorabilia
or posters of other
half nudes

in their living rooms
over beer pong
tables
battle shots
under banners
celebrating
pass out for Passover

and still others
smile on
obliviously
in their
bathrooms
where they have
forgotten to
close the lid over
the calamitous turd
half  floating
half pasted to porcelain

any way you look at it
we’ve become
obsessed with self-image
and its projection
on others

and I am ashamed
to admit
that I too
have photographed
myself attempting
author photos
where I’m
staring
off
into space
the bags
under my eyes
visible
without
a microscope

so I suppose
it’s hypocritical
to call
them
out
all of those
who have
posed
for such photos

but fuck it

nobody gives
a shit
about your abs
your tattoos
your tramp stamps
or your
pretty smiles
find something
else to do
than photograph
your tits
your DSL’s
puckered
like a fucking fish
and do something
with your lives
and stop
making me
write these
goddamned poems
where I’m forced
to call you out
on all your
inadequacies

so give me the real thing
and stop boring me
with your peep show

it’ll save us all
a lot of time
trouble
and imagination