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“Publishing a book,
Watching its ways
Force me to look
At a screen for days

"Be still, be still",
My heart screams for life
But I must check its sales,
It's reviews, its likes.

Another Instagram poet
Who's dying
And doesn't know it,
Untying an underlying

Knot of desire
To be liked and admired
For people to love what transpires
From my mind, but I'm tired

Of the social machine
Producing my insecurity
Hoping someone will follow me
And like all my poetry

From this point forth, find me nowhere,
Socially unseen,
Just on the back porch, without a care
And without a screen”
― Eric Overby, Senses