read receipts

my best friends are read receipts.

they tell me all I need to know.

they confirm, they deny,

they whisper in my

waiting, ever-anxious ears.

“you’re not good enough,”

said the 10:30 p.m. stamp.

“he doesn’t want you,”

warned the 11:48 stamp.

“i bet he’s with someone else,”

smirked the 12:15 stamp.

’someone prettier, skinnier, better than you,”

screamed the 1:32 stamp.

i wish attachments were something

you could turn off.

like a leash with a collar

that you could unsnap, break,

destroy at any time.

but when the majority of boys who

have the potential to ruin my life

have snapchat and iPhones,

attachments get sticky and feelings

freeze.

like i said,

my best friends are read receipts.

they confirm, they deny,

they break my heart.