(grumpy person yells at clouds)

your grandiosity
is a great
mediocrity.

there is nothing special
about you
or your friends;
your vintage filters
on your social media selfies,
or your conversations
about your fantastic parties.

there is nothing special
about your geometrical tattoos,
your metal piercings,
your overpriced clothes,
your shaved haircuts.

there is nothing special about me
either,
but at least I’ve come to acknowledge
that I won’t change the world
by posting updates
to other people that pretend to care.

at least I’ve come to realize that,
in the end,
I’m just a dot in the universe,
I’m just another sad person
in that Bukowski poem:
alone,
watering my plants.