social media entitlements and navigating its world

The online media is a funny place. We share thoughts, photos, food, jokes, rants, and whatever-have-you. Perceptions become entangled with blurred lines. Sometimes there is an entitlement attitude in having access to someone else’s life beyond the stream of handheld devices. It can be tricky to navigate. Some people will collect the strings of your heart to throw off the rhythm you beat. Some will curb your written thoughts as their own. Some will wait to read and give nod the “me toos” of life. Some people will be seething in hopes to tear you from the truth bombs you speak. Others will expect you to be one way or another upon your first meet. So ripe with expectations of each other as if we are entitled the access to one’s life.
I do love this platform, but at times, I head scratch a bit, the meanness, competition-driven, illness of jealousies, the chasing of right/wrong, as if what one does in life or shares online is meant to affect your own. I’ve lost “friendships” and some finger-point to accuse me to be this or that. Funny how one face can change from one person to the next. Funny how one dose of words can smile at your face and scowl behind your back. Funny how one can get lost in a world that can only be kept by a finger-touch. This, like a news-outlet, is only a small part we play. As if significance rests on a screen, you are so much more than a portrayal. It’s an expression.
I write my heart out on here, sometimes it’s bloody and a pain that singes up my spine, traveling to unknown reader. Sometimes it’s light and toasts like bubbles that topples from a champagne glass. What I say does not always flaunt the comforts and pleasures of life, it is often dark and murky, and full of rage. It does not mean I walk around in rage. This is one tiny part of my whole. One expression of my healing. And it’s not everyone’s cup of tea and that’s quite alright. Truth doesn’t always taste like honey, sometimes it’s scorching hot burning the belly. Here what can be accessed, a small part of me and it’s not always in real-time, yet not always staged.
What I am is whole, no longer reaching my cup out to fill a void within me.
I am not for everyone, only for myself.