Swipe
I hate it.
My face. Reflected in my phone.
Turned sideways, in the dark. Alone.
I scan through images and I bemoan
what others have. A life. A home.
I hate them.
My eyes.
Unfocused and puffed wide. I realize
that I have cried a thousand cries
before this piece of plastic lies.
But late at night, I won’t choose otherwise.
I hate how
so often I forget.
How in my hand I fit
this little piece of well-lit shit
that postpones getting up and doing it.
Whatever “it” is.
I hate this.
This hollow in my chest.
Gripping this thing close to my breast.
I ingest deeply while I rest
my thumb over it and press.
And swipe. And press.
I hate it.
Hate knowing that I hinge
perception on what I binge
through this thing. This thief. This sin.
And yet again, again, again
I forget until I glimpse the mirror and then
I grieve the waste. The endless spin.
I hate myself, my face.
Shining back from this rectangle space.
This shiny portal to a place
Displaying things that we all chase.
Except for me, I sit out the race.
Instead I lay here and replace
Those things with this. This little taste.
I hate this.
I hate it, but
repeatedly I put the hate aside
I clear my mind, opening wide
I don’t resist this ever tempting slide
Because it’s easier to simply glide
my finger up and down. Then side to side.
So I swipe.
And I press.
And I swipe.
Posted Sep 21, 2021, 2:18 PM UTC
very relatable! i like the depth of feelings you portray, while keeping it simple. thanks for sharing!
Thank you so much!!