My Contemporaries

My Contemporaries

By Terry Scott Niebeling

 

Stolen stories about how I tell people I’m a writer.

I don’t, I’m not.

I just type a lot.

 

This took place at the VFW, this took place on social media, and this whole idea took place in my mind.

He said she said.

Of course I’m fine.

 

To my contemporaries,

You hardly write, you always talk, and what is there to do about it?

Nothing.

Your work exists in the rain like chalk.

 

Frame of mind, you are blind.

Idly wasting time, waste of time.

 

The only thing we have in common is proximity on a map.

You have released thoughts from their trap.

Your handshakes, salutations, and self-descriptions fall flat.

 

Is there more to you?

More to do?

We can only assume.

 

As long as you are around I know there is someone better fit for the job.

Making us all look good.

 

Cheers,

TS_

 

After Thought:

 

Facebook Famous,

Got it covered like a condom.

 

Not paying to publish.

Not wasting paper.

Not advertising falsities.

Not entertaining bullshit.

 

The only way to exist.

 

I just wrote all of this.

I haven’t spoken a single word.

Ain’t that a bitch?

 

Don’t believe everything you say, speak, read, or see.

Most people lie.

I formulate drafts when I sit.

 

***

How’d you get famous?

You know it’s not word of mouth when you’re speaking about yourself, right?

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