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

Hey! Nothing....

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.