I find out that social anxiety exists in heaven

Featured Post #34

Featured Posts are hand-picked to showcase the excellent work our community members are doing. In keeping with SmallStack’s mission to lift up small publications, all Featured Post authors have fewer than 500 subscribers. Think of it like staff picks at your favorite indie bookstore.

Today’s Featured Post is by

gabby

, author of Tinfoil Diaries, and was selected by a community member. Our community member writes:

This poem is an ode to the socially anxious and the people who live on the margins of society. I was moved by the vivid imagery and humorous verses - its message is existential and painful yet it also tells a story of hope and the beauty of this world that we as humans can often neglect. By far, one of my favorite poems on Substack - I hope that many more get to experience it :)

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A SmallStack Featured Post

I find out that social anxiety exists in heaven

POEM

By

gabby

Photo by author

[Note for reader: Intended format may be compromised on mobile version. Desktop version is recommended.]

I find out that social anxiety exists in heaven

as I float forty spirals of cracked marble,
the sky mocking me with echoes of
strangers' voices. Between gates of braided gold,
my college dorm-mate scans bags for
earthly contraband. I ask for reassurance that
I am in the right place. She hands me a food voucher
I'm unsure how to redeem. I tow my suitcase, sewn with
prescription-less bottles, to the holy orchestra.

I. Lobby

The angels perform my high school ringtone, blowing
trumpets made of melted watches and unclaimed bones.
The walls swell with the fluorescent lighting of an endless
waiting room. I expected natural lighting in the afterlife.

A school of souls file ahead of a QR code, scanning
for today's special. All they serve are chocolate chip cookies.
At second glance, all they serve are oatmeal raisin cookies.
The voucher does not cover sales tax. I did not expect sales tax
in the afterlife.

II. Cafeteria

Every cloud is fully occupied, except for one
underneath the waxing moon. A ring of souls sit criss-crossed,
food trays glinting with starlight. I hear them exchange
names, pronouns and Top Three Life Moments.
I settle in the center, within every wrinkle of sight. Their stares
corkscrew through my skin, now lifeless but full of feeling.
They await a name, pronouns and life moments I do not know.
I am homesick for a conversation that never happened,
nostalgic for a planet that was never a home.

III. Deck

My cookie dissolves between my fingers before
it can reach my mouth. Each oat, raisin and grain of dough
trapped in the infinite space between them and me. I pluck
the hanging bits, one by one, and form Earth on my tray.
Islands of sweet grain among an ocean of shriveled fruit.
This world of mine, staring back at me,
now small and harmless.

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About the author

gabby

is a disgruntled policy student and a lesbian writer who lives at the mercy of her cat, Duchess in Portland, Oregon. Over the past decade, Gabby has served as an organizer on a range of political campaigns on the local and state level. When she's not working, you can find her running around bodies of water or eating breakfast burritos. Her words can be found in Pioneertown, Passengers Journal, West Trade Review and elsewhere.

Think of Tinfoil Diaries as a bottomless trough of ruminative slop, if you will. Expect weekly poetry, short stories and essays on queerness, neurodivergence, political satire, cultural hegemony, anxiety, identity crises and ultimately, the discomfort and awkwardness that is being human.

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