Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Maybe deep down she'll always be that girl that wants what she can't fully have.

Loving people that'll never know how to love her, really love her.

And a few times she'll realize her worth but then she gets consumed in this futuristic land of fomo.

fear of missing out

That wide range between reality and what if.

Reality existing in hands other than her own.

What if being behind those closed doors that make reality worthwhile.

Fearful of abandoning reality because there's that small chance that what if comes through.

Fear of missing out.
On you.
Juneau  Feb 2019
fomo
Juneau Feb 2019
what time was it
what was your age
when you first found out
that it's all just staged
from their instagram account
to their facebook page
it's all just made up
so they are not upstaged
they exaggerate their life
as their followers rose
they take a hundred shots
to get the perfect pose
so don't get caught up in it
you're not missing out
these apps intend to create needs
and to fill your life with doubt
be aware as you scan your feeds
it might be time to log-out
repeat this line just as it reads
i am not missing out
February 16, 2019

sixty-one

fear of missing out
flitting Apathy Nov 2020
Checked my messages
again
for the first time in a week
i dont think i could do that last year
i would be fomo asf
Butch Decatoria May 2019
Friends fake endearments written in yearbooks

Or until the reunion when age can’t pretend

Many attend only to feel better about themselves

One night to reminisce, pity accompanying  regret.
(Fear of missing out)
Aaron LaLux Sep 2018
Gambling with Tarot cards,
got The Devil in the palm of my hands with the edges creased,
The Devils in the details and He knows me well,
holding 3 6’s plus card #15 The Mark of The Beast,

it’s when you’re the most up,
that they want you to leave the least,
it’s getting dangerous at the table,
I’ve got the whole pie and every guy wants a piece,

used to trade in seashells,
now we’ve got black cards and private tables for us VIPs,
and the lovely ladies know me well,
like a pizza pie or birthday cake everyone wants a piece,

it’s amazing what a few million will do,
and I’m confident so I don’t need a crew,
rolling solo till my cause of death reads “FOMO”,
I mean if you had these opportunities/risks you’d take them too,

which is why you can always find,
me at the table all in with my chips out,
no kids no wife no significant other,
so I’m spending it all on whichever chics has her **** out,

a conscious writer but still in a man’s body,
so how you like me now,
no Toby Keith or kobe beef,
just these og vegetables,

but I’m not what I eat,
I’m so much more,
and I’m not a meet and greet,
nor a mall because I’ve got much more in store,

so please pass the drinks por favor,

in Colombia with a straw and some Coca-Cola,
drinking so much I feel like the Drink King,
drinking like a Drink King,
listening to Drake sing his song “Controlla”,

in real life no real wife,
I mean I really know Drake,
but anyways I’m not here to get distracted,
so let me backtrack to the point I was trying to make,

which is that it’s tough to stay vicious,
when blessed with the gifts that so many wish to have,
which is sorta suspicious gift the fact that the 6 is,
a card that appears 6 times in the Tarot deck’s stack,

Six of Wands 6 of Swords,
Six of Cups Six of Pentacles,
6 to represent the card of The Lovers,
Tarot decks reflect my self we’re both collectibles,

only difference is with me there’s only one,
maybe that’s why they offer everything in exchange for only my time,
“Here take this money take these drugs take these luxuries!”,
“Take anything that will at least be a chance for me to call you mine!”,

says many Ones often but they are mistaken,
because I can’t be there’s I’m not even mine,
I am no one’s I am no thing,
I am only a part of The Whole which is The Divine,

and I know all this,
I know that I’ve been bestowed with all these blessings,
still I can’t help but fall victim to the sins within Man,
which is why I see you can find me at the table gambling things,

gambling with Tarot cards,
got The Devil in the palm of my hands with the edges creased,
The Devils in the details and He knows me well,
holding 3 6’s plus card #15 The Mark of The Beast…

∆ LaLux ∆

www.scribd.com/document/388173677/The-Holy-Trilogy-Volume-2-Mandalas
Naravi  Oct 2019
fomo
Naravi Oct 2019
not emotions
but my body freezing and falling asleep
once again I found out last
once again I feel left out
it doesn't even hurt
it doesn't bring me sadness
it just exist
and my body reacts to it
but my brain shuts down
my emotions turn off
it's like I'm away from my body as it's not feeling anything
John Bartholomew Feb 2020
Wake up
Check
Any updates
Check
Give it 2 minutes
Log back on
Check
My god, she added last night
Check
14 new comments
Check
***. I cannot believe she posted that picture
Check
Best look on Insta
Check
No Way!
22 new pics
Who is he?
Check
Her ex? Again, no way!
I'll give it an hour
5 minutes pass.
I might have missed something
Check
Nothing
OK
Not OK
No pics of me yet
Why no pics of me?
Did I look that bad?
Better check
Check
Nothing
This could have been a mistake last night
Check
Check
Check

Fear Of Missing Out

JJB
FOMO (fear of missing out) is the enemy of valuing your own time - Andrew Yang

The only reason for time is so that everything doesn't happen at once. - Albert Einstein

I went to a restaurant that serves 'breakfast at any time'. So I ordered French Toast during the Renaissance. - Steven Wright
Love is a burning feeling in my gut
Besieged by fear and retribution
We reduced ourselves to ashes
We are accents and accidents
Rented by teenage time-travelers
On the lonely road to happiness
We are shattered tornadoes
And bruised background checks
We are appetites of coercion
In the hands of any man with a cigarette
We are assassins in the making
And there are always lawyers for the taking
We are the dragons teeth
Eating our own weaknesses
We are revealing images of infinite healing
Hungry for your eyes and immune to stealing
We are sheets of paper baked in an oven
We are the numberless occupants
Of another abandoned apartment building
We are shouting matches and fireplaces
Lit with nimble little fingers
When your hands have become eyes
You are slower to lift them to the sky
So you cover up your secrets
With the fabric of space and time
We shine our strength and our sorrow
When all of it's the same
Both yesterday and tomorrow
Tonight we are appointed
To watch over these sacred grounds
For nothing shall ever happen
If we don't speak it from our mouth
And love is only music
Using language to find it's sound
We are dominant-handed people
Who know too much about your scorn
We are contacts covering translucent corneas
Petrified with doubt and looking inside out
We are always a little troubled
By the thought of being left out
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2019
.whiskey on ice is hardly a profanity,
even if it is an orthodox scotch...
              who in their right
mind would sip amber?
  neck on the guillotine...
   but please: no lukewarm profanity
in what looks like a chip off
a chandelier...

                a minute's delay on
the ice and...
                neck on the guillotine...
so many stars! and the moon!
and: a sight of Antoinnete's lingerie!

******* it!
   who the hell sips sweaty-hands
whiskey?
                       whiskey on ice...
to take the bite off...
     esp. that -esque of Laphroaig;
takes the edge:
            but doesn't blunt the slice...
no profanity around here...
     lukewarm tea is bad:
but room-temp. whiskey is:
   this is not a game of
                 hare & hound
   with a chaser of beer to follow...

no... don't drink ***** in
England...
             whiskey on ice isn't
a profanity:
   there's no room for sipping
it: expecting what
becomes a kiss from a she-devil...
neck on the guillotine...


mind you...
   didn't some drunk once say:
FOMO no GOGO?
no... i'm pretty sure he said
something along the lines:
don't to it for the money,
and certainly don't do it
expecting to bed women
like a gladiator...
                              (on writing)...

that was in the 20th century...
imagine:
   that caravan on the beatnik
poets...
                         like
cabaret voltaire:
  but with more momentum
and... well...
    not diffused
   by the 4 official languages
of Switzerland...

that was the 20th century...
  hey... looks like i'm
  both qua pseudo &
                   circa -esque
   of Virgil:
                   and in the 21st
century i'd say:
   don't do it for Pavlov...
don't do it for the numbers...
don't do it for...
             whatever this
is, but isn't another person
and isn't your private
eyes communicating
to another pair of
private eyes...

               just today i discovered
medium.com...
     'become a member now for $5/month
to read this story and get unlimited access
to all of the best stories on Medium'...

but i also discovered
the builders and the butchers,
song, bringin' home
the rain
(7 545 192 views)...

and...
        that means what?
   the song was published on...
the 13th of Feb. 2013!
   what's 6 years late to 8 million views?
        
fun logo from the 1980s
on a vinyl record,
ozzy osbourne's bark at the moon:
cassette and bones:

             HOME TAPING IS
             KILLING MUSIC...

don't know about you:
but like a Nick Hornby novel
i remember making
a mix tape for a former girlfriend...
she said to me...

'you know, i was walking
down Oxford St. at 6am to work
at the Marks & Spencers
listening to your mix CD
and King Crimson's
Epitaph came on...
          and... the streets were
deserted...'
                           NON-VERBATIM...

but i remember that
pirated music back then for
a higher purpose...
we didn't stash it in MPʒ
    banks...

                     it was: flirting...
or whatever the case for
the cult of high fidelity
is about...

                 so why would i go
back to ol' papa vinyl?
the thing's ******* hypnotic...
and look, a magic trick:
no headphones...

                     plus a 2in1:
a vinyl & a frisbee...
     problem being:
   cats don't play frisbee...
****...
                  rather...
the art of the return...
to the concept of an album...
which isn't the same
as a concept album
(from the prog. rock days)...

               i can just imagine
one torture technique...
not with children
and sweets...

   i mean... adults...
or nearing adulthood children...
a psychology experiment:
not yet done...

   a gramaphone,
a vinyl...
   a mundane album...
and... one stand-out track...
not children and sweats
and delayed gratification...
what delayed gratification?
there's only one stand-out
track on the vinyl...
oh... you mean to get
a single version
of the vinyl?

                 drone strike:
repeat repeat...
     it's like:
they started calling it acid
jazz...
  how about:
     ACID POP...
the song just erodes
the brain like
  a highschool
algebra rubric or
a choreography (misnomer
& metaphor)
    of historical dates
to state: us, unison, today,
and some we
     and some them.
andromeda green  Apr 2019
f.o.m.o
andromeda green Apr 2019
a whispered secret
a knowing glance
a random laugh
a hidden joke

i know i wasn’t there
but i swear it wasn’t my fault
so please stop making me feel
so freaking left out.

i’d rather be with you
and i know it doesn’t seem like much
but
a shaky streaks
a liked photo
a viral tweet
a funny video
thanks for giving me a reason
to give in to all this fomo.
i have a very bad pet peeve of feeling extremely left out and helpless in the smallest of situations and it makes me feel so terrible inside for feeling this way and why i shouldn’t even care in the first place but i can’t help it. here’s a very ****** poem to try to express how i feel
M G Hsieh May 2017
In between the media, gadgets and social
anxiety, I have feelings too. They
tell me to stop and listen to something
other than YOLO and FOMO. As I browse
through feeds, the limbic
part of me raises the bar a little, while
the frontal part of me swings
between dissatisfaction and hope.

I look at you
from the peripheral field of my mind. I know
you won't stop. Craving
more is what we were made
to become. Somewhere in our heads,
we lost our hearts.

— The End —