What does ‘like’ actually mean?

I post some garbage on here, let’s be honest. But I still get ‘likes’.

I mean …. really??? I don’t even like it. My own mother (who was embarrassingly biased) wouldn’t even like it. It’s rubbish.

That said, it is sort of lovely that people hit the ‘like’ button when maybe they actually didn’t. I’m touched.

What disturbs me more is the idea that people may be just randomly hitting that button without even reading my crap and thus rendering the whole concept pointless.

So here is a test. Here is something dull and talentless … but heartfelt.

If you do actually ‘like’ it … or even if you think it’s crap – don’t just push the ‘like’ button. Make a comment. Be honest. I can take it.

***

Don’t say you like me

If you don’t

Don’t promise to do

What you just won’t

Perform. But please

Don’t just pretend

To be my lover

Or my friend

Reform. Don’t sell me

What is sold

Don’t confuse

A man so old

With stories that

Have been retold

Don’t touch me

With your fingers cold

With lies that you have

Told before

Just be straight

Tell me the score

But don’t mistake

Don’t get me wrong

If you enjoyed

My little song

Like me

And I’ll like you too

Love me

And I’ll love you true.

42 thoughts on “What does ‘like’ actually mean?

      1. No. I stink. I just wrote something for the ‘word of the day’ which, I this case is ‘proboscis’ …. I had to look up what that meant.
        But it did give me the opportunity to state that, with a long nose, I should be the first person to know how bad I smell.

        ……..
        My dad had one

        It’s like osmosis
        
A lengthy nose
        
A stark proboscis
        
I share the family

        Psychosis

        Embarrassing

        This diagnosis

        It’s here to stay

        That’s the prognosis

        I’ve tried ignoring it

        Hypnosis

        I sniff my breath
        That’s halitosis

        I’m ugly and
        
I smell atrocious

        Liked by 3 people

  1. If I like it’s to let you know I’ve read what you wrote.  If I dont comment it’s because I’m at a loss to be as funny as you are and don’t want to fall short. If you see my icon, I’ve read it.

    Sent from Yahoo Mail on Android

    Liked by 1 person

  2. It may not be shakespeare, it may not be Dylan Thomas, but it cuts to the bone, the heart, the midsection.
    That ain’t all bad, you know.

    I love what you do, truly. What I don’t like, mr. be-brutal-I-can-take-it is the “‘aw shucks ma’am it ain’t nothin’ but a bunch o’ words” stuff. You’re better than that.

    Like

  3. What you ought to do is have a horrible post–worst poem ever, that sort of thing–and see if you get the same amount of likes, or far less likes! 😀 (Or, scary thought, even more likes than ever!) Don’t announce that you’re going to do it! Just write a poem called something like “My Naughty Finger” and then just sit back and count the likes!

    Seriously, I often like something to acknowledge that I read it, and if I don’t comment, I might not have any thoughts on it, but that never means I disliked it. More that it might not have vibrated with me at the time or reached my current wavelength. That’s never a criticism! But I can’t speak for everyone on the concept of when people like something! Interesting question!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Um, OK ….

      Will you let me stay and linger?
      I am mister naughty finger
      May I propose a little dance?
      But might you first remove your pants?
      So that I may with my love anoint
      Do with this finger more than point?
      Might I embrace you privately
      Might you be overcome with me?
      But then what issues might prevail
      If I don’t trim my fingernail?

      Oh, God. Sorry. That’s dreadful. But my previous attempts to offend you have failed. This is a new low-water mark.
      Still …. possibly not my worst ever poem.

      Like

  4. Like some other people here, I also “like” things to say that I’ve read it… And if I disliked something, I wouldn’t have read through it all the way. But I often prefer to avoid commenting when I can get away with it… It’s draining, and, I sometimes worry, presumptuous.

    Like

  5. I like reading posts like these and the comments under it.
    It’s become popular to “Like” to acknowledge the writer. It’s like a participation trophy. “Oh, look, you wrote something. Good job. Here’s a like to motivate you.”
    Meh.
    I rarely hit Like because it doesn’t mean that much to me. Likes have no souls. Comments do.
    I like how you asked for no likes as a test. I wonder if you’ll catch someone who didn’t comment and just Liked. Please, share results.

    Like

  6. I like your writing Brutus, but l don’t always get the time to visit and this year has been more difficult – but l only what l like and l only like what l like when l have read it and liked it. I would prefer to have less likes and more comments because comments display to me someone is actually reading and absorbing over being lazy and pretending they were there by hitting like – if you don’t see likes from me – it’s because l haven’t been visiting.

    I liked this because l read it and liked it and l am here because you commented that you don’t have a following and l would disagree. You may not have a lot of ‘followers’ but you do have a following who, read, like and follow you. You don’t write garbage, you write candidly and creatively and uniquely and honestly – l think there is a difference. Your followers are mostly readers and there is a difference to having a following comprised of mostly skimmers and likers only 🙂

    I really liked the poem also.

    Like

    1. Mate! You’re right. And isn’t the brutal honesty of an Australian refreshing to hear sometimes? There’s no getting around it – this really does stand out as bad, in a pile already clearly marked ‘very ordinary’.
      In my own defence I should point out that I don’t actually write poetry. I write a few little ditties that’s rhyme and spend about 5 minutes on each. That’s why there’s such a lot of them. On the other hand I really labour over prose … I rethink every word 3 or 4 times …. yet I still come up with stuff that falls terribly flat.
      There must be a message in there somewhere, but I am not really ready to face up to what that message says.

      Like

      1. Haha you don’t write poetry, just rhyme you say. Like rhyming isn’t the basis of most poems lol.

        Well now that you’ve mastered rhyme, try using other poetic devices then, such as alliteration, anaphora, personification, onomatopoeia, metonymy, symbolism, rhythm, oxymoron, allusions and so on.

        Like

      2. But I would have to look up all those words. Oxy Moron certainly has a ring to it … I remember teachers at school using something like that in specific reference to me.
        But poetic devices seem like cheating … are they something that you need to plug into mains power? Or is there a battery powered version available at Bunnings?

        I was attracted to the name ‘Ms.T.J.’ – it seemed like a celebration of brevity. But if you insist on using all these multi syllable words I can’t see the relationship blossoming.

        ‘onomatopoeia’ …. is that even a word? The very sound of it makes you seem too clever for my comfort.

        Like

      3. You’ve seen my writing man. I can’t write as well as you so don’t get threatened by me! I’m someone who can suggest others what to do, yet I can’t do it myself 😒
        You seem like you needed the challenge and is getting bored of your natural ryhming and poem writing abilities, hence I suggested you plug in a few poetic devices 🔌 into your writing. That was all 😊

        Like

      4. Ha ha! No, I realise that. I was just messing with you.
        Hang on. No. Let me rephrase that. I don’t realise that I write better than you. I realise that you were providing heart felt suggestions.
        And as soon as the next job keeper payment comes through I’ll be buying a few of those poetic devices.
        But I think onomatopoeia just sounds like a big word.

        Like

      5. May this poetic🔌be a running joke with us haha I love it. Let’s just say that it’s easy to buy a few devices but it’s difficult to install once you get home…

        Ironically in reality, onomatopoeia are really small words, like buzz, splat, bam, and eek! So I dunno why it’s called that and so difficult to spell.

        Like

      1. Seems reasonable. Because even ‘don’t like’ might be a bit crushing.
        Though, in the Australian vernacular I think a button marked, ‘Bruce. Mate. That absolutely fucking sucks’ would be accepted in good spirits.

        Like

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