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  • Writer's pictureEric Johnson

Tomorrow's Tomorrow

Updated: Oct 1, 2021

This is the first poem in the newest collection I'm putting together. I've made this available only to the people on my mailing list as a preview of some of my more recent work. Keep in mind this is a work in progress, but please feel free to send me any questions of thoughts you might have, I'd love to hear from you.

Laying on my bed


at the end of freedom

Phone clutched deftly in my hand

Lifeline and Garrott.

It pings me,

telling me I have friends and I matter

Colorful images flash before me, a parade of curated lives

Curated dreams

Curated nightmares

of friends I haven’t seen in months insistently pressuring me to listen

and see

and judge myself

but not them

never them.

While I sit alone and dream of tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow

A day when I may be more like them,

more like their picturesque lives and phantom souls

When I can forget that I am here


on the last day before tomorrow and the rest of the days after that.

Another ping from my phone, another dreamy vision of life.

another reminder that I am less then them

my life is less interesting, less fun

And already I dread tomorrow’s tomorrow, the talk of travels and parties

Parties that I was never invited to

on the first day of classes, on the first day of high school

Ping. A picture of the sun and laughter. Ping. A picture of people and fire. Ping. The ocean waves at sunset. Ping. Group selfie. Ping. Selfie. Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping.

I join the herd or selfies,

no good

Another and another and another

No. no. no.

They look lame, looks like I’m trying to hard,


to be noticed

to be cool

to be the me that everyone will like

This one—the lights good, I’m smiling, I look fun—#selfiesunday

I look fun right?

Will people think I’m lame because I’m alone?

Will people think I’m a loser?

Will people think?

Will people care?


Do I want them to?

Ping. Ping. Comments. Ping. Ping.

— “Cool pic” — #slob#seeyousoon

I didn’t look at the background, my rooms a mess, my life’s a mess

Summer changes nothing.

School will change nothing.

Text a friend—a real friend—no answer.

1:00 am — sleep and dread tomorrow’s tomorrow again.

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