Obthing

My mom's spaghetti is an obthing. It's just noodles and sauce. No creativity. No soul.

This obthing is my life. I've been stuck with it since 2007.

That calculator is an obthing. It doesn't even know what it's doing.

That obthing is why I failed math. It just sits there like it's not even trying.

Why is this obthing my phone's background? It looks like a sad potato.

This obthing is my coworker. He talks to the ceiling.

This obthing is my homework. It just stares at me like it’s not even real.

My dog is an obthing. He sits there like he doesn’t know what he’s doing.

This obthing is my teacher. She doesn’t even know why she’s here.

That obthing is my old phone. It's still working. That’s not normal.

This obthing is my uncle. He drinks at 8 AM and still shows up to work.

That obthing is my ex. He still texts me. Why?

That obthing is my math class. I can’t run from it. I can’t hide from it.

This obthing is my mom. She’s everywhere. She even follows me to the store.

That obthing is my job. I can’t quit. I can’t even take a break.