It was the damn phones

Found this poem on the internet, that I would like to share with you.

I think our parents were right. It was the damn phones. We laughed when we were children hearing it's that snap gram and instant chat and face talk. They didn't understand. They couldn't even say it right. We thought we knew better than them. They didn't know what it was like having a world at the tip of our fingertips. We scroll through the trash so much we have headlines tattooed on our skin. Wires for veins, AI for a brain. And they may not have understood, but they were right.It is the damn phones. A drug in my pocket depended on stimulation. But can we blame us? We were but children when they were given, we didn't know how to stop it. If I added up all the hours I spent on a screen existential dread and regret would creep in. So ignored this fact by typing away. And it's not like I can throw away my phone. It's how we communicate, it's how we relate. It's the medicine that is surely making our souls die. I used to say I was born in the wrong generation but I was mistaken for do I not do everything I say I hate? When I look in the mirror I see a ghost staring back. I try not to think too much about who I would be without technology. The character behind my phone scream has become self aware almost worse than being naive or I know it's poison, but I drink anyways. We used to be scared of robots gaining consciousness, a lie by the media companies to distract us as to not ourselves become conscious of the mess they created. We are the robots, we are the product. So I sit and I scroll and I rot and repeat. Sit and scroll and rot until my own thoughts are what is being fed to me on tv. Until my own feelings are wrapped up in celebrities. Until my body is a tool of my political identity. And so I sit and I scroll and I rot. And so I post on the Internet how the Internet has failed us so that I may not fail my Internet presence. I think our parents were right, it was the damn phones.

Kori Jane’s poem is a sharp, haunting take on how phones have hooked us—turning us into "wires for veins, AI for a brain." It’s raw and honest, with lines like "I know it’s poison, but I drink anyways" hitting hard. She nails the irony of our dependency and the cycle of "sit and scroll and rot," even mocking how we post about the Internet’s flaws to stay relevant online. It’s a brilliant gut punch. If you like poetry that’s real and reflective, follow her and check out her books "Books Close" or "Open Wounds" for more of her.