Autorenew My Heart
The Perks of Membership
I’ve got a wallet fat with cards,
each one a promise, each one a bard
singing: exclusive access, premium tier,
as if love could be swiped once a year.
Netflix, Hulu, Disney+, Prime
I binge identities four shows at a time.
My apps all ping like needy pets,
“Upgrade now!” and I pay the debts.
Hotels reward me with points for sleep,
as if my dreams were theirs to keep.
Shopping clubs send me gold-star mail,
“Preferred member!”, a hollow grail.
Credit cards whisper: You belong,
with velvet ropes and endless song.
But the perks dissolve like sugar in tea,
no one hugs you for loyalty.
It’s funny, really, this endless chase,
to join a tribe, to earn a place.
We stack subscriptions like Lego bricks,
hoping affection comes with clicks.
But here’s the rebuke: no club, no tier,
can buy the warmth of someone near.
Belonging isn’t stamped or sold
it’s messy, human, uncontrolled.
So cancel the memberships, shred the card,
love’s not exclusive, nor earned by reward.
It’s free, it’s fragile, it’s stubbornly true—
and it won’t auto-renew for you.