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.