poetry

If This Gets 20 Likes I’ll DM My Soul.

pexels-photo-1275929.jpeg

Tap tap
flick.

6:02 am, eyes crusted, dry mouth
the cavern in my chest
grows larger
as the light saturates the bedroom
and reflects a tired face
on a smudged black screen.

Tap tap
flick.

I don’t know you Caitlin32,
but your life is an exhibition
and I’m just a greedy voyeur
trying to fill a giant cavity
with your perfect pastiche
of placid domesticity.

Tap tap
flick.

Gold watches, invisalign smiles
your curated lifestyle content
beams at me,
like a radio transmitter
set to crippling self loathing
with the reverb of an envious pout.

Tap tap
flick.

Drag myself out of bed,
its time to feed the bullshit machine
with artfully contoured cheeks
and an empty family posed with
tepid, day old Acai bowls—
‘God damnit Jeffery,
I don’t care if you’re tired,
you need to SMILE for the likes.’

Tap tap
flick.

© Nancy Botta, 2018

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