Moody Teenage Poetry by Someone Who is Neither a Teen Nor a Poet

What ever happened to our dorm room dreams
That we collected in a pile on the carpet-covered concrete floor?
The circle of cards…

You’re born third,
a punchline to a joke you don’t yet understand.
You don’t know yet that you’ll spend the next 25…

I can’t stop thinking
about lost time.

I feel like I’m on hold.

The hold music is…
Okay.

If I lived in a bubble,
It would protect me
From all the bad in the world

I am untangling my thoughts
Like headphones I pulled
From the bottom of my purse.

It broke somewhere between
the top of the ladder
And the bottom.