Every year around the holidays
the people birth me.
Bring me to life through ink
in notebooks, on fridges,
maybe even the corner of the freezer
sometimes on a half-broken post-it note
crumpled inside a winter coat pocket
usually at the back of minds of students, scholars, and workers
I bump to the top of Facebook feeds next to a hashtag Humble
crawling with excitement
marking the beginning
of my caterpillar phase.
Imagine my surprise when by February,
I am lonely, lonely, lonely
Some picky gym rats
may even say I am dying
I am an orphan in a notebook
I have fallen off the fridge
I was found crumpled up inside a winter coat pocket
and am now in the trash–
I was never found inside a winter coat pocket
and am now dropped into a puddle on a busy street corner.
I tumbled down to the dark places of Facebook feeds
where only the occasional nosy Mom finds me
I am buried in the minds of students, scholars, and workers
buried under things more important
buried under the exact routine that they had before
never transforming, never reaching
into the full beautiful wingspan
of a Habit.
Yours for now,
Betrayed New Year’s Resolutions of 2017