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Mar 24
poem
IsabelleRose

Dysfunction

A grid of pixilated faces sit in front of me,
listening as I read out of a book.
I try my best to talk,
but they can't hear what I say
until I am actually done talking. 
We are moving at different speeds.
They can't hear me, 
I can't talk,
this isn't working,
none of this is working. 
The voices are static and choppy,
the don't sound at all like they should,
they don't sound real.
We are all in our own worlds,
millions of miles apart,
it seems,
though I could see people,
just by walking down the road.
But thats not allowed,
and I am stuck here,
and that little bit of connection
is all there is left.
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Posted: 03.24.20
About the Author: IsabelleRose
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Discussion

Comments

  1. The Activist
    Mar 24, 2020

    Thank you again for leaving me with such an empowering poem

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  1. IsabelleRose
    Mar 24, 2020

    Aw, thank you so much. That means a lot!

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