Cellphone Poem by Stephanie Mac

*ring ring*
What will it be tonight?
Oh no.
It's one of those nights.

The insolence leaking from the earpiece attatches itself to my cellular device. It feeds on the doubt and the fear and the inability to confront the pain that so stealthily screams during the silences born of pride.
Like horny bunnies, it multiplies.

The phone grows heavy. My selfless tolerance weakens.
It's too heavy to hold up now, and I hang up for lack of strength.

I am angry at another sad failure of my willpower. The weight of the phone has seemingly defeated me again. It now now glows mockingly, still warm in my palm.

Even after my most horrid faults, the cell never disappoints my basic assumptions of coming back to life. Soon enough after its victory, it assuredly sparks into a most magnificent reconciliation; buzzing like 1000 heavenly honey bees, singing the merriest of melodies. It's a sign of tender forgiveness that can easily smear away the sourness of my frustrated face.
Suddenly I find renewed power. I can rip open the phone's bitter jaws and know that smooth, angelic voice is soon to be sweet on the other end, wanting nothing more than to stop my pain. Things will surely and swifty improve.

I am merely and completely afraid that one day I will be too weak on a whole to fight the relentless phone anymore. It may refuse to kick back into its lively groove, or perhaps I'll simply not heal fast enough to pick up the battle. Perhaps the savior on the other end will not want to fight for my sake any longer. He may very well grow tired of dealing with my imperfections.

On ths sad, sad day, it may lay dormant forever, as still as my hand as my life slowly fades.