A b us e By cameron tate On your nightstand, in your half-awake stupor you turned off my song you told me to play, but you still refuse to leave your bed. I go back to sleep as well, it’s too early for me. “Roll your ass out of bed, Sir.” I wanted to say.
Close some damn apps, Sir. I’m always in your hand as you tap my screen with your cheese dust covered fingers. They leave imprints on my screen that smear when you try to clean it off. You’re co-workers point at me in my new case, the only nice thing I have,
You wake me hours later,
as you brag I’m indestructible.
yelling that it was my fault you were late.
It feels nice…
I keep my composure and suggest your quickest route.
You then throw me on the ground,
You furiously press my screen, hurting me, as you respond
over, and
to your boss’s messages before shoving me into your pocket.
over, and
Filled with dust that gets in my ports,
over again to prove the point.
pens that scrap against my case,
I feel a fracture on my screen,
and the humidity of your thigh
you say it’s a hair.
fogging up my screen.
Give me some damn respect, Sir.
You’re a disgusting pig, Sir.
We retreat to our respective chargers to end the day.
I’m placed next to your keyboard at your job,
After the abuse I dealt with today,
you fill spreadsheets and forms with data you don’t understand.
I needed the rest because we’ll repeat it again tomorrow.
You ask me every minute to do the math for you,
I dreaded it, but that’s all I can do.
while playing your music,
You reach over again, and open the browser.
finding local restaurants that serve breakfast at 3:00,
You type in the search engine, P-O-R…
the capital of Utah,
I shut off for a “scheduled” update.
saving your score in Fruit Ninjas from 3 days ago,
Leave me alone tonight, Sir.
2018
and a dozen other tasks that make me exhausted.
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