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It was, and always will be, 1969

The fluorescent screen in our lounge,

Mirrored the bridge’s onboard viewer

Gaining a look into unfamiliar fictitious worlds.

We encountered both friendly and unfriendly aliens.

Pointed ears, blue faces, or lizard-like Gorn

Occasionally, it was all just too much 

After all, I was only nine

It wasn’t Dr Who scary, but it was close

They whisked us weekly across the cosmos


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don't hmu.

youre a good little girl,

he types.

youre submissive arent you, 

he moans, over text.

he expects a beguiled, 

blushing emoji in response.

what he gets is three dots and an empty silence so loud he remembers what he is.

a greasy teen (21 years of age).

a lusty manchild looking for another child. 

he tells me im a cute and submissive girl, 

with luscious milk bags. 


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poetpoetrypoemmodernnew poetnew agetexttechnologyteenagergirlhoodwomanhoodboyhoodnewfictionnon fictionshort storyprose

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