Poem For An Amateur Cyber Porn Model
I wander the wastelands of the Internet,
searching for my lost soul.
I cruise the post-yourself-naked sites,
strolling among the lonely,
the desperate,
the horny,
all looking for some validation in their lives,
looking to be loved,
to be held,
to be hugged,
to be told they are worth something and that their existence is not for nothing.
“I’m attractive, come look at me.”
”I’m hot, just look and see.”
The 48 year-old housewife with her sagging tits,
urging you to believe she is still the sex kitten she was when she was 18.
The 18 year-old guy,
handsome enough in his own right,
to shy to approach a girl,
demanding viewers worship his six inch erection in an effort to build up self-confidence.
The 35 year-old husband,
bored with working at home,
discovering a more interesting use for his web camera than a video business conference with his district manager in Boise.
The hot co-ed from Nebraska,
trying to make money without actually having to engage in physical contact with strangers,
pleasuring herself for the enjoyment of strangers playing $24.95 a month to watch her talk dirty to old or shy men who sit at home and masturbate to her performances nightly.
I cruise the net,
hoping to find something to distract me long enough until I’m too tired to think about the aimless direction of my life,
the death of my dreams,
the waning of my goals.
The promise of connection, or perhaps the threat of it,
is removed by the cyber miles between us,
and the safety of semi-anonymity.
Yet the desire to be seen by and win the approval of the masses is overwhelming.
Flash and click,
and post to the amateur sites,
and feel the exhilaration of trepidation and nervous delight of risk.
Love me!
Accept me!
Approve of me!
I am real,
across the cyber miles.
I am flesh and blood,
and bone,
and boner.
I bleed and I cry,
and I breathe,
and I sigh.
Maybe I’m not a supermodel,
or a muscular hunk?
Maybe my flesh has shifted to my waist,
or my ass,
and my body is not a measure of perfection,
but a measure of time?
Maybe I’m less attractive to some,
or more attractive to others because of my self-proclaimed flaws?
Maybe I’m just another person lost in my consciousness hopelessly wandering the Internet in search of guarded contact in order to feel more real,
in a world where real is just an illusion?
Whatever the case,
whatever my self-delusion,
I am here and I am me.
And in the grand scheme of things,
I am part of something,
of a group,
who are temporarily immortalized in the cyber realms in all my glory.