Slave To The Algorithm (53M)

The Analog of Self In the lens, I see myself multiplied,

A chorus of me’s, each one justified,

Through the click of a shutter, a moment confined,

Yet endless in layers, both real and designed.

With Photoshop’s brush, I blend and I blur,

Crafting each version with a flicker and stir,

Film captures raw, every flaw it reveals,

A truth in the grain that digital conceals.

Each portrait a question, each edit a quest,

For the place where I fit, where my soul finds its rest,

In shadows and highlights, my story unfolds,

A mosaic of selves, both the young and the old.

Like film in the darkroom, submerged and transformed,

I find who I am as my edges are warmed,

In negatives, positives, a spectrum of me,

Emerging from chemicals, finally set free.

Photoshop layers, like chapters in time,

Reveal every facet, each climb and decline,

In self-portraits, I see the world and my role,

A mirror reflecting the depth of my soul.

Through lenses and pixels, I start to perceive,

The place where I’m anchored, the truths I believe,

In the merging of mediums, my purpose, I find,

These are called Witches Stairs. Allegedly, witches can't climb up them.