Gym Membership (But No Muscles)
Sign-up day arrives with a burst of conviction–new-year hope carved in the receipt,
New shoes gleaming, bottle full, gym shorts daringly tight, a declaration that this year will be complete.
The card’s swiped, promises are made in the locker room mirror–this time it’s different, this time it’ll stick,
But by week two, those vows gather dust, crowded by every excuse and the quicksand pull of Netflix.
The treadmill stands silent, a monument to aspiration gone flat,
The yoga mat curled in the corner, unbothered by sweat, not even a little bit wet.
Dumbbells stack like regrets–never lifted, only admired as potential,
While the fridge fills up with guilt and chips, muscles stay accidental.
There’s a fitness app that pings reminders like a bad ex,
Push notifications lost in the digital mess–after all, the couch still loves you best.
Motivation’s a myth, discipline’s a rumor, and every plan gets steamrolled by cravings and tired eyes,
Every “tomorrow” is a promise to start fresh, while every “tonight” is another reason why plans die.
Mirrors now avoided, not just out of laziness, but self-preservation,
The only numbers tracked are episodes watched, not reps or calories,
And the scale in the bathroom lurks, a passive-aggressive roommate,
You weigh the odds–maybe next week you’ll care, maybe not, maybe it’s fate.
The gym membership charges on, monthly, a relentless mockery,
While your main sport is guilt and your rival is the idea of trying,
Maybe next month will be different–maybe when the weather’s right, or the mood hits,
Maybe never, but it’s fun to imagine a future of abs under all this bullshit.
Every excuse tastes better than sweat, and the routine is now a ritual–cancel, postpone, repeat,
Hope replaced with Cheetos, regret washed down with soda, and dignity, well, it’s somewhere underneath the pile of receipts.
Motivation comes and goes, mostly goes,
Sometimes it’s fun to plan, but it’s never fun to sweat,
The treadmill’s an art piece, a stationary sculpture of defeat,
Maybe tomorrow, or next year, you’ll make good on the threat.
For now, the gym collects dues and dreams,
While you collect stories for why you failed and memes.
There’s shame in the closet, there’s guilt on the shelf,
But let’s be honest: nothing’s going to change until the pain outweighs the comfort,
And for most, that day never comes, just another year bought on hope,
A gym membership–expensive, persistent, a joke–
And nothing to show but a little extra weight,
A lesson in modern ambition, soft edges, and the comfort of fate.