Boredom

Most days, it feels like
a part of me drifts toward
the ceiling
to watch myself
have inane and shallow
conversations about
broken fingernails or
my most recent pedicure

As I float around different rooms
in different places
I watch myself fervently debate the
arch of my eyebrows and I feel so
tired
remembering dreams I once had
I don’t remember saying that I wanted to
be a cliche when I grew up

I used to be an intellectual and
now all I can talk about
is my hair

Watching myself
detached
I realize that I have become
the type of woman
that I used to mock
before I got so tired and started
watching myself play
an endless game of pretend