TRACKING

Our minds tracked by systems,
embedded on our brains,
our fingers linger
as do our mouth.
The voices circulating through clouded skies,
although sometimes the moon rise.
This poet i adore
seemed to have felt bore,
yet i adore her sadden words.
I here the noise,
I’m being tracked by visitors,
aliens invading.
Running courses through my veins in bed or awake.
People seem scare
yet i’am aware, yes indeed they are tracking us but i’am not scared.
The sun will wake me and when it’s shadowed i will feel like i’am free.
But not until midnight, i will roam freely in my silken gown
bare underneath.
the system stops working, as it seems we sleep, hands linger, creeping through corridors.
I feel the water rising,
my eyes slowly darkening
the tracking system breaks into million pieces
as do my body,
disintegrating,
slowly,
desperately.

—By Sarah G., 15, Orlando, Florida