Living Future Poem by Britt Veloso

How much falls out of the face?
My hands are looking resented for wasting space
My chest is tightening and cold
The cracks in my lip are withering and old
The foundation of my being is being tested
My freedom and liberty feels unlawfully molested
I can't pick up a book without a quick glimpse of my phone
The tears keep strolling down, my ripped sense of pride is poorly sewn
I think about my future like a stoic sin
The constant succession of nepotism is looking rather grim
I feel trapped by monogamy i don't even have
The fools who await me, need a good slap
No one will love me, no one will try
Forgive me when I say neither will I