LITERARY | Am I Cute On My Profile?

Of course I am.

I’ve made you think of it that way.

I ​​curated myself for the media;

that I was composed, that I was living the good life,

not knowing the amount of shame—with a mix of mental maintenance—I have to shove down my throat.

I made sure to decorate each ‘My Day’ with stickers,

made sure the background was aesthetic, and the angles captured the moment just right,

made sure the song that came with it perfectly matched the vibe.

I post proof of motion so no one asks if I’m stuck.

I archive the pauses that came along with it.

I crop out the hours that blur into each other.

I trim days that repeat themselves until they feel perfect.

I hate how tired I’ve become;

not the romantic tired—the kind that writes poetry—

but the dull, unphotogenic exhaustion that comes from surviving.

I hate how routine has consumed my mental state.

I hate how waking up feels like déjà vu.

I hate how happiness is timed.

Still, I upload selfies.

Still, I present to you the coffee shops I go to.
Still, I smile in pixels.
Still, I let the music subconsciously do the talking for me.

Because being cute is easier than being your real self.

And if you think I’m doing well—that means I’m doing my unpaid job right.

So unless you know what someone is carrying behind the screen, shut up and stop pretending like you understand.