Freshman year of college
I was introduced Tinder;
she left me too.
Girls that would be my second choice
have boyfriends too.

The girl I loved sophomore year
in high school got married.
I practice self-care —
Sometimes I just don’t love myself.

Sometimes I walk the streets
waiting for someone to test me,
then I realize —I’m a black man in America.
I fantasize about being the center front
of a big house party
as I lay in my bed,
surrounded by four blank walls.

I cried when my grandma told me she has blood clots.
Those tears were from the past two years.
I hate personal pronouns,
but don’t touch my things.

We post our thoughts on Twitter.
My thoughts are just tweets.

by. Philip G. Steverson