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Who Are You Texting?
You. I’m texting you.
You would know that if you
minded to your own phone.
Stop sneakily snooping over my shoulder
and check your inbox, because
I texted you.
I’m not; I’m just rereading an old conversation-
I save all of my cute, heartwarming convos
to brighten my dark days.
They make me smile over and over.
Santa Claus. I’m texting Santa.
He says, “Hi,” by the way.
I told him I want that pretty Pink perfume
in the fancy swirly bottle for Christmas.
What do you want? I’ll tell him.
Except… you’re kinda still on the naughty list.
…Santa doesn’t like snoops.
Your mom. I’m iMessaging your mom.
She is mad you aren’t home yet.
You’re grounded.
Why do you always assume I’m texting?
I’m seriously not THAT addicted to texting.
Besides…
My phone is plugged in on the counter
right next to you.
I’m all the way across the room!
Your boyfriend.
He’s asking me for advice
on how to break it to you.
Heads up, girl…he doesn’t like you anymore;
You can ask your twin sister about that.
She knows a lot about it.
I guess you’re no longer his favorite twin!
...I’m playing Words With Friends.

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"It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles... The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood..." -Theodore Roosevelt