Get off of Your Fucking Phone
I walk by you on the street each day as your crooked neck bends aimlessly down, towards your phone.
Your eyes are glossed over, and your brain fires endorphins as you open your messages, check your inbox, and validate your likes on Instagram and Facebook.
I watch as you crash into another zombie, step in feces, or hit your shoulder into a tree. I used to laugh, but now I shake my head in disappointment.
Why bother? You’re not looking anyway.
Get off of your fucking phone.
I go grocery shopping with you too. While I explore new foods, read labels, and try to make additions to recipes on the spot, you’re looking down, reading a text, or responding to a message on Reddit.
Every week you bump your cart into my back or hip. You always seem to drop a fruit or plastic bag, which I then pick up since your eyes are fixated on the device you can’t seem to get enough of.
Get off of your fucking phone.
I work out with you too. Six reps, seven reps, eight reps, done. Phew! Exhausted, I look up, only to feel a deeper exhaustion as I watch you lazily bend your knees on the leg press while staring into Snapchat.
Oh, but then some hope! I see you too, curling dumbbells, finishing a set with vigor and vim…
