She hopped on the train
and slid in her seat,
clutching her bag,
ticket in her teeth,
rummaging for her phone
in the depths of her pocket,
in her 90s, throwback, denim jacket.
The wifi was down,
the journey was long,
sick of that Justin Bieber song
(oh come on - you know the one!
It was at number 1
for far too long!)
And like his refrain-
she'd heard again and again-
she took his advice whilst sat on that train
because she liked the way that she looked
just as much
as that on point hook,
or that Hunger Games book,
so without mind or care for anyone else,
she began to love herself.
Selfie mode on,
cap pulled back,
phone on silent,
no click or flash:
head to the left
pout to the right -
the camera loved her in that light
alright.
She had a badass handle
on the tilt of that angle,
consumed by the lust
for the perfect lux,
she shot and re-shot,
cut and cropped,
lo-fi?
Nashville?
Oh, juno's hot!
An insta-ninja
a hipster pinner
a pouting, duck-lipped
00s grinner
with unbeaten flair
for short hair
don't care
with just a slight air
of 'oh, I've been there!'
And the 3 hours passed
in the quickest flash
with no need to tag
and pit bull to red flag
when the pic she loved most
she neglected to post
and denied social media the honour to host.
'Cause she didn't need
her pose to bleed
its way onto your Facebook feed-
a like, a love, a viral fixation,
would never provide her true validation!
No, this girl had conviction,
knew it was healthy,
to believe in yourself,
sorry, to belief in your selfie!
