Morning Routine

I rise at three fifty A.M., mouth taped

to stop the red pill from leaving my head.

Name brand, dark blue, aesthetically shaped

to show the world the extent of my bread. 

I plunge my face into the bowl of ice.

I add lemon juice to increase the pain.

To cleanse my soul and to control my vice.

To strengthen my mettle —against the grain.

 

Can they see all my insecurities?

I feel the heat of their stares through the screen.

Cut off, I'll fade into obscurity.

My life protected by a glossy sheen.

 

The millions are with me on their phones.

—all eyes on me, yet I still feel alone. 

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