Literary

Is there a literary device broad enough, complex enough, to encompass this feeling - one of explosion? I suppose there's ALL CAPITAL LETTERS, but that's not a literary device; that is a desperate attempt at making a point, perhaps most especially on the internet.

In April 2020, I sat down at my rickety wooden breakfast table in a sunny kitchen in California, and opened my laptop. I wrote every day during lockdown, little poems and sentiments that encapsulated my growing disdain, my contained rage. The end of 2019, for me, was like someone had a hold of my life and also a stick of dynamite, and threw the dynamite inside my mind, creating a simmer of smoke that finally exploded into words that April.

I overshared. I thought: no one knows me here. The internet is a strange place. Someone "liked" my first post and I felt famous. I kept at it, writing little nothings onto my keyboard, onto this little white screen of promise.

Lockdown ended. The world moved on from COVID. Sometimes people put that in all capital letters. I just did and it didn't make a difference. I wonder if it was the world screaming, trying to make a point. I wonder if I was trying to make a point. I certainly wrote about it, like there was a contest and I needed to win it. And that is a literary device in its essence.