Twelve eighteen
and you're awake
with the godawful ache in your throat
that you can't explain. You just know
it's there whenever you're about to cry,
and you want it gone because you hate to cry
because you're gonna do it in silence every time.
You don't have any fucking friends.

Four thirty
and you don't have a partner in sports
even though practice has begun for thirty minutes.
You walk around the courts, to the furthest and back
and then back again,
your racket in your hand and the sound of balls hitting the court
incredibly lonely.
You don't have any fucking friends.

Ten fifteen
and your essay is still not handed in although
study hall has been over for fifteen minutes.
After thinking you resort to calling your mom
hating the decision even as her face appears, excited, on your phone screen
because she doesn't understand what you're working on
but you don't have anyone that does to talk to.
You don't have any fucking friends.