You know what I’ve realised?
We’re all miserable.
Cathy, three doors down with the spotty cheeks
And loud, obnoxious children –
And Beth, covering herself up while walking home
From another late night class
Gripping the wine bottle like an inhaler –
Nicholas, the guy with the fruit chin and
Cauliflower ears who smells like soup on a good day –
And Mike, who spits out poetry like its God’s gift
To the unpublished kingdom –
But he owns it.
We all do.
In between fucking
And writing it down in blogs and vlogs and Facebook posts
Twisted up in cocktail pictures on Instagram
And faceless ponies on our quick fix Snapchat
We are all fucking miserable.
Because we were told we could achieve anything.
So when we get to anywhere and we realise it isn’t anything,
We consider the things that may have led us some place
Because no one likes a man
In sweatpants, eating cornflakes
On a second hand loveseat,
Watching re-runs of Golden Girls
On a Tuesday afternoon
I’m there too.