Five Dollar Poem for Jen Hitchcock

Tomorrow I will wake up and
(like most days)
slather lavender-scented aluminum under my armpits
and soak myself in floral fragrances
to avoid smelling like a human being.

I will put product in my hair and pink powder on my cheeks
and black paint on my eyelashes to avoid
looking like a human being.

I will crane my neck, tap my thumbs
on a screen, and strain my eyes to avoid looking
at other human beings.

I will widen my eyes and purse my mouth into a smirk
and click and zoom and edit and filter and crop
and edit and grain and “take a few more
just in case”
to impress other human beings.

I will visit my parents once a week and
call my abuela and tios and primos once every 6 months
to avoid feeling like a shitty human being.

I will consume and digest and shit
pesticide-contaminated, genetically modified
naturally and artificially flavored foods
to continue on living as a human being.

But tonight, I will lay under my warm covers
tucked away from the noises of this existence
and dream about being anything other than
a human being.