The Other Side

I write.
I put it out there.
I write.
I put it out there.

Sometimes social media feels like a school auditorium
filled with people on stacked-up boxes,
screaming into megaphones.
Trying to be heard.
To be noticed.
To be whole in a world full of pieces.

Who has the best photos? Who has the most likes?
Who has the rules to play this game?

follow.unfollow.follow.unfollow.

I’ve never been good at popularity contests.

I look up #amwriting
and it seems to me I need to find cooler coffee mugs.
Maybe,
if I can find a cooler coffee mug,
I can find my tribe.
I can find support.
Like-minded souls to strengthen my resolve
in this wildly corrosive world.
Someone to hold my hand
and tell me all this work I’m doing
will amount to something beautiful.

Something bigger than myself. 

And then a bus blares past and I catch a glimpse of my reflection.
A smile gently spreads across my lips.
I rub my hands together for warmth and for once...
I don’t let go.
One hand clasping the other,
I look both ways before crossing over to the other side