Tomorrow,
everything has changed. I became
my list of resolutions penned in
3am permanence, shed the shell
of the man I became
last time I made the same promise.
Tomorrow,
nothing stands in the way of
my mind’s stride: just distracted enough to focus,
though never on the right thing.
I scroll bottomless feeds, my diet aposematism,
so nobody gets close enough to realize
I’m always like this
and leaves.
Tomorrow,
I’ll wake up three hours late,
with no memory of my list,
wracked by the guilt of opportunity costs
and neglected responsibility. It took a year and a half
to kill my cactus but
I’m not great at watering myself either.
Tomorrow,
I went to bed three hours late,
with nothing crossed off my list,
swore it would never happen again,
and believed it.
Julian Kanagy (he/him) is a poet and editor who writes to explore questions he can’t find other means of asking. He reads, writes, and lives alongside his kitten, Pippi, in Chicago.