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feather pillow

One hundred and forty characters.
Even commas and tildes count.
A hashtag or an ampersand has the same weight
As an A or an O.

Descriptions won’t fit.
A sunset or a baby’s cheek
Get no more space than
A street address.

 

Emotions get squeezed out of the tiny 140 character box.
You’ll have to surmise what that “no” meant.
Maybe take a wild guess about whether it was
A nuclear bomb or a tofu word, gelatinous and bland.

In one hundred and forty characters you can’t
See a tear or receive a hug.
You can’t just waste an hour over a cuppa joe,
Laughing out loud with a friend.

One hundred and forty characters
Posted on the Internet
Like a feather pillow broken in the wind,
Are indiscriminate and anonymous.

Twitter posts are useful for delivering facts:
Times, places, assignments, and information.
But when they are used for communication
That should be delivered in person,

One hundred and forty characters can feel like 10,000
In terms of the damage they can do and the distance they can travel.
Or like only five characters attempting
To say something meaningful.

 

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