seventeen and stupid
in class dreaming of recess
writing notes to each other
back and forth
like an analog MSN messenger
thinking this would last forever
what a joke

now I'm here
nineteen years later
still checking your Facebook
like some kind of forensic investigator
of happiness
trying to figure out where the body is buried

I just want to be rich and *******
the same girl forever
but instead I'm here
writing bad poetry
drinking warm beer
while you're out there
living your best life
married
or whatever

remember how we used to
share earbuds in Portuguese class?
now I can't even listen
to those songs anymore
(the outfield - your love)
(the kooks - naive)
(vanessa & ben - boa sorte)
without feeling like
I'm being stabbed
by a mechanical pencil

funny how memory works
like that
like a tooth that won't stop
aching
even after
it's been pulled out