The Feed, the Feed, the Feed / The Name I Had Before

June 16, 2026 | By Emily H.


the feed, the feed, the feed

a portrait of the self in scrolling

i. morning

Before I've named the day, 

I give it to the grid. 

Forty-seven strangers 

have already decided 

what this morning means. 

Someone's brunch 

is perfectly lit. 

I am still in bed, 

mouth sour, 

performing interest. 

ii. the body

I find a photo of myself 

from three years ago 

and feel a grief. 

it hasn't earned 

its own name yet. 

My face is content now. 

My face performs wellness. 

My face has three hundred 

small approvals. 

iii. the argument 

A man I don't know 

is wrong about something 

that matters so much 

I spend forty minutes 

being right at him. 

Neither of us changes. 

The thread collapses

like a body 

that was never going to stay. 

iv. night 

I post the sunset 

before it finishes 

setting. 

I miss it 

while it's happening. 

Someone says 

gorgeous. 

I sleep with the word 

the way you sleep 

with a light left on— 

afraid of the dark, afraid of the dark. 

In the end I was a mirror 

holding up other mirrors. 

I think this is connection. 

I think this is enough.

the name I had before 

a portrait of the self in silence

i. morning 

I lie still long enough 

to notice the ceiling 

has a crack in it 

shaped like a river 

I've never visited. 

This is what boredom is, 

I think— 

a door you keep walking past 

until you forget 

it could open. 

ii. the body 

I catch my reflection 

in the toaster 

and laugh— 

distorted, golden, 

briefly warped into something warm. 

My body is just 

my body today. 

It asks for water. 

I give it water. 

This is a kind of prayer. 

iii. the afternoon 

I think of something funny 

and have nowhere to put it, 

so I say it out loud 

to the empty kitchen 

and the kitchen doesn't reply. 

The silence doesn't hurt

the way I thought it would. 

It sits with me 

the way old friends sit— 

without needing anything. 

iv. night 

I watch the sunset 

until it's gone. 

The whole slow ceremony of it, 

the orange going 

without asking to be kept. 

I don't tell anyone. 

The beauty sits in me 

like a secret 

I finally get to keep. 

In the end I was just a person 

standing in the kitchen at dusk. 

This is nothing. 

This is everything.

 

About the Author

Emily (she/her) is a high school junior from Tustin, CA, passionate about youth mental health advocacy at the intersection of media and social impact. She is involved with the allcove Youth Advisory Group in San Juan Capistrano and leads an initiative called Sunshine Project, where she works to reduce stigma and expand access to mental health resources. In her free time, she loves writing, theater, journaling, and watching movies/TV shows! Due to her love for creativity, she also started Canvas the Vote, an initiative aimed to increase civic engagement and voter awareness through artistic expression.

 

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