You scroll through your social media where people have sworn not to show what they feel like so their 'profiles' can be aesthetic to look at. You look at dog videos and swear not to think about your dead dog with whom you never got to cuddle one last time. You walk through streets you've never been to hoping that it'll lead to a story. You kiss boys and girls you don't really like and pretend you're waiting for the three-days-later call. You constantly listen to Cardi B because you can't take another Bon Iver song. You fake a smile, an ******, a brave face. You look at where you're staying and pretend not to long for that one little park in Paris where you could spend your entire life. You unblock the ones you lost and feel a fleeting sense of comfort in knowing that they're not happy either and block them again, to feel 'powerful'. You look back at your journey and sigh because you haven't done enough. You curl into your uncomfortable bed.
And then you realise you're not done.
You realise your journey is just starting. There's so much left for you to say and do and teach and feel. You realise that the best part about yourself is that you're hopeful, despite it all. You realise that despite all the bad that has gotten to you, there's still good, and you can create it. You realise that you've places to go and people to fall for. You've learnt to become your own teacher and your own pupil. You realise that the sky is not the limit for you. You think people calling themselves a work in progress is a cliché, but you know you're one yourself. You're not magnificent. But you will be.
So you light up a cheap cigarette and play the Bon Iver song. And you wait.
This is obviously not a poem, but prose. I just wanted it to be up here.