A Project for Better Journalism chapter

My Cellular Device

I’m tired and I want to sleep

You’re battery is low but you manage to keep

Me awake at all hours of the night

My eyes are red and filled with the fright

Of my mother as she bursts through the door

She frowns and reaches for my shoe on the floor

Mother scolds me and takes you away

I cry that I wont see you for another day

I slept that night, in the dark alone

Without the comforting illumination from my phone

How the screen smiles back nothing else will suffice

The need for my sweet, precious, cellular device