These past few months I’ve felt like an outsider; put in this position I’ve lost all my power. All of my friends have something in common I’m unable to share. I walk into school and my heart fills with despair. I am surrounded by people who don’t know who I am. They’re looking at me but it seems like a sham. The distance that separates our worlds is too far. I’m endlessly grasping but can’t quite reach the bar. They’re a class of people I am unable to be. So I feel all alone it’s just little old me.

“I’m not good enough,” I tell myself, a whisper in my ear. My mom says “it’s fomo,” but it’s more than just fear. I am missing out! Of this there’s no doubt. This feeling is something I’ll never live without. They’re all snapping each other, they look so damn cheery. It’s like I’m on mute, and they literally can’t hear me. So I wipe away tears as I head into class. On my way there I can’t seem to get past another metaphor for the issue - I’m always in last.

I can’t connect with my friends, they push me out of the circle. Now I’m alone, just a lonely ol’ Urkel. I’ve tried to fill this empty hole in the past; but, any filling I use simply doesn’t last. Me, a jelly donut with no jelly inside. Oppressed by their fullness, I swallow my pride.  For example, this morning I arrived at the school. Sticking out like a sore thumb, I feel like a fool. I hear them all whispering when I turn my back, ‘cause they all have something I clearly lack. In a jarring, sarcastic, valley girl voice, one calls out “nice cords”, as if I have a choice. Next thing I know, I’m in history class. To a great extent, I relate to the past. I read about slaves bound down by their chains; I’m bound to my shame, by the chains in my brain.

So here I am now, a product of my generation. Suffering from lack so I lack true elation. I want it, I need it, I’m different by far, I’m with Star-bellied Sneetches, but there’s no star upon thar. I find myself drowning in a deep sea of plastic, surrounded by material kids whose are unenthusiastic.

We measure our worth by our stuff and our rides, rather than the passion we have burning inside. Maybe our value comes from our possessions, apparently we were shaped by the Great Recession. No one listens, no one hears, they’ve all got airpods stuck in their ears.