I wonder what you’re thinking.
I wonder if you think of me often.
I wonder if you’re happy.
I wish for you to be safe.
I hope that you’re happy.
I hope you’re smiling.
I miss you.

I am alone
deep
in the waters
pulling in
drench me close
deeper, I stay
far gone
nothing to say
wishful for better
a chance
perhaps a day
seeing no sight
of tomorrow
another wave
I have to weather
I am alone
but maybe it is okay
to just let go
and float away

i always feel so stuck, like there is this strange expectation of me, like i am not the person they are expecting, they are using, that they are searching for. Or perhaps i constantly feel like that towards everything. I belong, and yet i don't. people belong yet they dont.
constantly trying to beat others, yet never knew be friends with them was really the answer. I am not involving myself enough yet i never want to be. I try then act like I never tried, blame others for annoying me yet allow them to.
I use platforms as an escape from people yet show the same people as a way of being accepted straight after. I do things behind people's backs only to tell everything later. i want to be free yet i have no clue what of.i dont know what is trapping me, but i just know it is. im writing things for myself only to tell them to others.
i message people and they finally reply, then only to feel abandoned again. Things come and go, but never here forever or for very long.
i complain of eyestrain yet stare continuously at the screen like some kind of void for the stress and blame inside me.

escape!!!
by michael r. burch

for anaïs vionet

to live among the daffodil folk . . .
slip down the rainslickened drainpipe . . .
suddenly pop out
the GARGANTUAN SPOUT . . .
minuscule as alice, shout
yippee-yi-yee!
in wee exultant glee
to be leaving behind the
LARGE
THREE-DENALI GARAGE.

Keywords/Tags: Coronavirus, Pandemic, Teen, Society, Humor, Hope, Social Distancing, Isolation, Family, Home, House, Escape, Escapism, Freedom, Plague, Boredom

A coop
Unannounced and spilt again
It's warmth a discontent
Clasping of the chest
Face now grimaced to
groan alone
Sensation dead
Hushed in quiet breath
Salty broth on cloth
musked in scent
This soup is not my friend
Isolation in the end

How sweet is the sound
Of the songbird's spritely tune
On this summer morn