In a moment of weakness, I decided to create a self-help YouTube channel for former prom queens who stopped peaking after high school,
and so far it’s not going well,
mostly because I don’t know how to edit videos,
or how to hold the camera in a precise manner without using a tripod.
My hands are shaky,
always shaky,
but it’s not my fault,
because I suffer from low blood sugar
and broken heart syndrome—
two diseases that puzzle doctors since there are no viable solutions for them besides home remedies.
Home remedies
such as holding in your urine and dancing around outside of the bathroom at a party until the people occupying said bathroom are done having sex,
over drafting your debit card to buy things that will impress your neighbors but will really just make them hate your tiny guts,
waking up at the crack of dawn and patiently waiting for your inevitable downfall in order to pass the time,
and picking flowers for an old lover
in hopes of rekindling a broken relationship,
so you can order the lowest rated Chinese takeout food on Yelp and
cuddle up on a twin sized bed,
while watching local government access television,
trying to learn why the mayor is cracking down on open containers at block parties and funerals.
But of course,
most of these remedies are unhelpful,
and depending on your overall mood/amount of simple carbs ingested before taking a nap,
they’re completely useless—
a feeling you’re unfamiliar with.
And I’m pretty sure you’re unfamiliar with most feelings
because you actually might be a witch.
And I’m not just saying that because you check your horoscope religiously
or because your search history consists of organic spices
or because I caught you playing with voodoo dolls.
I’m saying this because when I texted that
I loved you,
you said
that was nice,
but pizza is also nice,
and unless I’m transitioning into something tangibly delicious,
then I won’t even make your list of top 50 things ever,
and I guess,
for me, at least,
there’s something oddly reassuring
and satisfying
with knowing that the world continues to revolve around people with hurtful tendencies,
and no matter how many times I try to disrupt the gravitational pull of the universe, nothing seems to work.
Oh well.
Chalk that one up to my undiagnosed A.D.D.:
a condition developed in the womb during the fifth trimester.
Thanks, mom.




Shawn Berman is a warm beer. Shawn Berman is a strip club on a Monday afternoon. Shawn Berman plays a mean air guitar. Shawn Berman’s work has been featured in theNewerYork, Voicemail Poems, and Potluck Mag. Shawn Berman can be followed on twitter @ramonbermanez


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Cover Photo: AK Rockefeller (