#average writer

You go to your little boy, begging him to stop crying. You hand him your phone, And before you know it, he’s’ playing some game, He’s watching some cartoon, He’s doing so much on the little phone without ever being taught.

He learned to use the phone Just as naturally as he learned to walk, As if there were something already hard-wired into his brain. This wonderful distraction that kept him quiet as a baby Is nothing more than a masquerade.

Just as the monsters would Crawl out from his closet After you said goodnight, These monsters pop up in his feed After he gets his own phone.

Look at your boy now. “Useless.” “Addicted to his phone.” On it all day, never giving it a break, staring At himself in the camera, & staring at girls, too.

Learning so much, learning every day, but never the right stuff: In middle school he first said, “Fuck” and In high school—when he wanted the new “Supreme” t-shirt, (not for what value he could give it but for the value his Instagram did).