Instagram Girl

Dopamine in my cola, I wait for the ping
to paint the town of my body—The contours
devolving from the diets of fascists.
Every ad snarling at the carbs, taking a bite
out of each increment of my buried self.  I scroll
the rosters of picket fence smiles, wait
for the high, the glamor and glee
of serotonin making a pitch
to our salty eyes of sadness.
Every two minutes, I’m checking
the dashboard, the way I looked under
the bed for that chewed stuffed
monkey that gave me comfort.
I’m looking for a buzz, a momentary fix
of astonishment. All baggage, with no
cargo.  My painted toe-nails heavy
on the scale, one less gram from yesterday.
23 of 24 hours, I’m the confetti on the floor
after everyone has left the party.
Invisible as covered furniture.
Steep me like a tea bag
into the steam— Into the cup
I’ll jump from.  I’m looking, I’m culling,
I’m waiting for a ding. I’ll be the lamb
to the slaughter, the loneliest daughter
as bullies scout me out, bright
as a lightbulb surrounded by moths.
Once I was just a girl collecting
fireflies in a jar, watching them
light the night with my heartbeat.