I make an excuse,

Just to have the night to myself.

Just to sit on my bed,

Just to decompress.

Sometimes I regret it,

Sometimes I don’t.

Will they think anything about it?

I hope not.

I tried to stop.

I tried to not make an excuse,

I tried to participate,

But it never seems to work out.

There will always be that one time,

That one time I miss out.

That one time where I am not invited.

I’ll see the pictures or the Snapchats,

Making me feel the endless regret or even jealousy.

Sending me back to my ritual.

If I am never there,

How can I establish a fear of missing out,

If I’ve become accustomed to,

Always Missing Out?