good morning to the men in my phone

let’s be honest: none of us want to be here really.

scrolling like our lives depend on the bright pang of a reply

from someone we have never met 

& likely never will. 

my friend once went on a retreat

in the mountains & at the summit she felt liberated 

to throw her blackberry into the crystalline air. 

immediately she regretted it, like how that post-cum 

reality principle always kicks in. 

a neighbour clips his fingernails 

at the front door as I try not to scream

when my phone charger stops working. I can’t 

refresh anything, so stand on the porch against the breeze.

he says nothing, merely leaves himself 

on the pavement for everyone to see. 

I argue with terfs & flirt with a straight man 

in australia whose name is probably not steven. 

if you’re reading this after the age of green 

circles just know that everyone lobbed too much 

of themselves to too many people. maybe the reward 

was being seen. as I wait for my therapist’s zoom account 

to stop freezing, I count back from one hundred 

& imagine deleting every last part of myself.