I’m 31 now, almost 32.

I’ve started to wonder why I think the things I do,

I scrutinize my face and tear my body apart,

I rarely even think about true beauty in my heart,

I keep living in the past and hating on myself,

I obsess over those who do not serve my health,

I care about image and what people see,

The likes on my pictures are what define me.

I scroll and I scroll, and I hunger for more,

I lose all my time to these things or I’m bored,

My attention spans short; it’s not hard to guess why,

The dopamine dips, and I crave my next high.

But what about beauty and laughter and rain?

What about love or compassion through pain?

The moments we live, both vast and small,

Are the only moments that exist at all.