My friend Sarah sits alone at night and scribbles on a page,
Turning each line into a battle, a war that she must wage,
She writes about getting out, fear and doubt, her failure to fit in,
Seeking metaphors for moonlight as she bleeds out through her pen,
But she keeps her poems in an old shoebox so no one ever knows,
Because she gets more like on Instagram by taking off her clothes,
Don’t call it a plea for popularity; she’s establishing a brand,
That’s all that matters when the world fits in the palm of your hand,
As she spends every day surrounded by the people she’ll never please,
She can’t help but look around her and despise the world she sees,
Her parents can’t afford the artificial life for which they strive,
But orange is the new black, and forty is the new twenty-five,
She watches them sacrifice a future that was never theirs to lose,
And walk around all day technically blind, staring at their shoes,
Meanwhile her friends all speak in memes, aspiring only to be seen,
A million tiny little lives lived inside a million tiny little screens,
As corporations burn down everything they cannot steal or sell,
And politicians fabricate the facts to justify the lies they tell,
The television markets manufactured rage, advertising decay,
Meanwhile Sarah fills another page, and tucks it safely away.

I look back.
A dad, a sister, a brother, a mom.
Moving five, seven, no, thirteen times.
A father gone,
A sister to school.
Another stepdad,
No three boyfriends.
Of all, two criminals.

I look back more.
Three, four, school districts.
You promised one final.
Promise not kept.

I’m sixteen.
My first car, breaks.
My second car, breaks.
My third car, Mom breaks.

One, three, four attempts.
Goodnight.

I break; But looking back
It could have been worse.
No dad, no mom;
Just brother and sister.

At least I have three.
Goodnight.

" write me a poem " he said to me
And lost myself with words for he
I write about the stars at night
And tell him he's a pretty sight

" write me a poem " he said to me
And listen to my heart beat
I write about the music i love
And tell him he's my favorite song

" write me a poem " he said to me
And rest my weary body free
I write about the comfort of home
And tell him he's my shelter from the storm

" write me a poem " he said to me
And laugh for my emotions towards he
I write about you and me
How we are never going to be.

Day after day the days will unfurl
and from every table is a view of the world,
Around both the people perpetually are
Crossing their fingers when crossing their hearts,

Then stumble and falter as they rise
To yearn for lost time but then prophesize,
Of instances when car headlights will flicker
In meaningless Morse code from the foot of the river,

As calendars die and memories erase,
A single year rolls down my face.