“Infinite Scroll, Finite Mind”
My thumb learns the language
before I do—
up,
up,
up—
a quiet prayer to a glowing god
that never answers,
only offers more.
Faces flicker like passing trains,
smiles polished to a shine
that feels rehearsed.
They laugh in perfect timing,
pause in perfect lighting,
live in a world
where nothing trembles.
I watch.
A girl dancing in her room—
but her walls are cleaner than mine.
A boy studying at midnight—
but his notes look like art.
Someone crying—
but even their sadness
is somehow beautiful.
And suddenly,
my thoughts grow teeth.
Why don’t I look like that?
Why don’t I live like that?
Why does my life feel quieter,
smaller,
less worth recording?
Scroll.
The questions multiply
like reflections in broken glass—
every angle
showing me
a version of myself
I don’t recognize
but feel responsible for.
I tell myself
it’s just a screen.
Just pixels,
just edits,
just moments chosen carefully
like lies that learned
how to tell the truth better.
But my mind
doesn’t believe me.
It takes each image
like evidence,
builds a case
against my own existence.
Scroll.
A couple laughing—
do they ever sit in silence?
A friend group smiling—
do they ever feel left out
in the middle of each other?
A life so full
it spills through the screen—
does it ever feel empty
when no one is watching?
My chest tightens
with borrowed lives.
I am everywhere
and nowhere at once—
living through strangers,
forgetting my own breath
still belongs to me.
Scroll.
The feed does not end.
There is always another face,
another moment,
another version of “better”
waiting just beneath my thumb.
And my thoughts—
they do not rest.
They loop,
they twist,
they whisper louder
the longer I stay.
What if I’m behind?
What if I’m wasting time?
What if everyone else
is becoming something
I’m not?
The screen glows brighter
as my mind grows darker.
Until—
I stop.
Not because I am satisfied,
but because I am tired.
The silence feels unfamiliar,
like stepping out of a crowd
and realizing
how loud it was all along.
My room is still here.
My life,
unchanged,
unfiltered,
waiting.
And for a moment—
just one—
I see it.
Not perfect.
Not curated.
Not enough
for anyone else.
But real.
My thumb hovers again,
itching for motion,
for noise,
for the comfort of comparison.
Because overthinking
doesn’t end
when the screen goes dark.
It just waits—
patient,
hungry,
ready to scroll
even without a phone.
Points:
Time spent:
Canary word: Present
Possible AI signals:
Original Text:
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125,021 Literary Works • 672,739 Reviews
This is peak poetry right here, my friend.
Hello again! I loved your recent work so I decided to check this one too and it didn't disappoint. You have the skill to turn something mundane into something poetic, it's like witnessing magic. This one also felt personal, it's something a lot of us suffer through, reminds me of jealousy jealousy by Olivia Rodrigo. Something about this poem feels like I'm scrolling with the speaker, if that makes sense. When you say "My thumb learns the language
before I do—
up,
up,
up—"
It just makes sense but it's like you took that feeling and used exactly the right words required.
And then when it is followed by "a quiet prayer to a glowing god
that never answers,
only offers more"
It just makes sense. The metaphor is very out–of–box.
I also like the imagery like the previous reviewer said about faces flickering like passing trains. When I read that I think of a person looking at a train passing by filled with smiling and happy people, the feeling very synonymous to doomscrolling. Other than that I like the part where you talk about broken glass.
It's just in my opinion clever writing and skillful use of words and I can go on and on praising each and every line of this poem. In short, I'm utterly impressed by every single line of your piece. Keep writing!
Mini review here on this lovely summer morning! Which, by the way, I know we all love YWS but- as this poem is telling us - maybe it's time to take a walk round the block?
What I loved:
The use of repetition, and the steady beat, which reflect the repetition of the movement. This allows us to really feel this rhythmic mindlessness brought on by scrolling.
The one word stanzas: "scroll."
This is like what our response becomes to anything. BAd mood? phone. Bored? Phone. "The comfort of comparison" - that's a gold line. We compare to comfort ourselves, to find our place in the pecking order.
What could (maybe) be changed:
I'd try see if I could condense this poem a little - make it shorter, get to the turning point earlier.
Thanks for your poem - it made me think. Keep writing x
Oh my gosh I love this poem so much! The way you describe the endless cycle of scrolling definitely resonates with a lot of us, and you worded it perfectly. I especially like the line “Faces flicker like passing trains”, the imagery really impacted me with that line. I think this poem touches on a topic a lot of us need to hear in our society today, so thank you for writing this and keep it up!