I admit that I hate I'm feeling alone...
Checking for texts with every second,
But the black covers my phone.
It doesn't light up every minute
Like my sister and my mom's
So I keep waiting here, here
Hoping soon that I can respond
What's up? And I'll say something
To that text or call that instantly fills me up.
But when it's over I'll realize that it's not enough
Becuase that cell is not a person, nor a source of conversation,
It's a combination of wires and signals mended by corporations
Then purchased by my mother who graciously gave it to me.
Never expected to cling to this phone so desperately,
or foresaw I too would prefer to speak electrically
But that's all a 21st century teen's life seems to be.