Friends that you’d make,
In the 21st century,
Will be people of an odd kind.
They would not mean hate;
It would be presented in a puzzle,
With parts that won’t always fit.
They will value you,
As a trophy to be won,
As a laurel hung to their necks,
To show to everyone on the way.
And on some days,
They will throw you in the glass showcase,
where you’d still be admired,
But just because you look like a collectible for the eyes.
They will hold you like a bistro menu card,
And choose, one by one,
The parts that they will give love to,
And cross off the items,
That don’t sate their appetite,
For which you must be ignored.
You will often run
Into the walls of their expectations.
Walls made of tougher stuff than steel,
Walls that’ll never be low enough for you to cross over,
Walls that’ll you’ll be asked to break,
But those walls would only break you.
And some off-timers would also see you,
People befitting the definition of people,
Tossed from a bygone era into your life,
For keeping you at bay with things like love
And hope and dreams.
But mostly, it’ll be tough to be you,
In people who can’t really stand the ‘you’, that,
They are always asking you to be.
21st century comes with screw-ups in its line of code,
You’d have to learn the language of love,
With many variables,
And very few constants.