Fashioning the Body: Versions of the Citizen, the Self, and the Subject

Without you I am lost.

The time? I do not know...

You reside in my pocket, in my purse, at my fingertips.

Occasionally you embarass me, draw unwanted attention at inoportune moments.

But you also keep me connected, help me communicate with those who I"m unable to see.

To make plans with those I long to see.

Yet many times I wish I were without you. Leaving you behind, try as I might, is so often not an option.

You record important (and unimportant) voices, when I leave you untouched even though you've called out to me.

You relay important (and unimportant) words in clipped phrases with cryptic messages included; such as: lol, rofl, omg, bff, etc.

Your keys are worn by my thumb pressing, grazing over them.

Your cover scratched, dented, worn, and faded to show how often you've been held, transported and the unintentional abuse you've suffered.

For that, faithful prosthesis, I do apologize. Know I am grateful of your existence, I really do love you.