No One Is Coming To Save Me

But Me

No one is coming to save me. 

No man inside the Hinge app. No woman inside the Instagram app. No email. No inquiry. No job offer. No book deal. No sexcapade. No finish line. No moneymanna raining down from the sky. No text message. No accolade. No lucky break. No test result. No master's degree. No photograph. 

I’ve been living in the centerfold of Dr. Seuse’s “Waiting Place.” Drawn in like some mismatched animal with tapered fingers. Waiting for the phone to ring. Or a dog to bark. Or a fling to spark. Or my life to start. Always waiting for something outside of me to regulate the inside of me. I could spend my whole life waiting for deliverance. When the only one with that kind of power is the one I sometimes can’t face in the mirror.