Guys my age

Boys are always playing dolls, looking for their barbie, but they don't look like ken at all, hardly have a heartbeat

They live in the glow of a five-inch screen,

Clutching a world that is loud and mean.

They text in codes that I cannot trace,

But freeze when they see me face-to-face.

They posture like kings on a digital grid,

Hiding the fears that their older brothers hid.

They wear baggy hoodies to swallow them whole,

And mask every spark of a sensitive soul.

They look right through me to catch their own view,

More worried about status than what is true.

They talk about cars, or a game, or a brand,

Too terrified, mostly, to just hold my hand.

They search the crowd for a plastic dream,

A perfect doll from a glossy screen.

They want the waist and the flawless hair,

An idealized vision from thin air.

But check the mirror, the illusion breaks,

They cannot match the demands they make

.No chiseled jaw, no cinematic grace,

Just ordinary boys in an ordinary space.

They dream of a Barbie to hold on their arm,

Without any substance, just superficial charm.

Yet they lack the style, the effort, the look,

To match the main character page in the book.

They are boys playing roles in a fast-forward age,

Stuck on the script of an internet page.

Wanting so badly to seem tough and grown,

While sitting right next to me, utterly alone.