Over my shoulder I see you there,
glasses & crooked teeth,
in P.E. you stood next to me.
We talked for hours on our land line phones
about classes & annoying people,
awkwardly fitting in,
boys n' shit.
I was one of the few people
you let over to your mom's apartment.
You were embarrassed but I liked it.
Your mom dated a man I never saw smile
so we always cut past them instinctively
& went upstairs to your room.
We went on aol instant messenger
the high school of online.
We tested social waters together.
We shared growing up at this point in time.
I liked the carpet & your cramped computer desk.
I liked feeling an energy not found in the very tidy & pristine
because my home felt like that too;
comfortable, not immaculately clean
but genuine & sweet.
We went to different schools
but you still hid a birthday gift in my locker.
You shared real moments with me
that could only be a part of my experience.
You helped with the ache of responsibilities
& I thank you for your presence,
but when I turn away from my shoulder
& this moment of recollection,
away from these memories,
& I look at your face now,
that is not what I see.
There is no apartment,
no energy like that.
I literally can't afford your time
no matter if he's loving or anything.
Your clothing & accessories have to have brands.
You have to have.
Love is money.
You are possessed by possessions,
your goals are no longer what I expected.