Cup Phone Confessions

Scrolling through my phone, a blur of faces,

and then that photo, grainy and bad.

Me at a party, holding a red cup

to my ear, like I was making a call to Dad.

My other hand, pointing straight

at a lampshade. Pretending a big debate.

Everyone turned, I swear, they all looked my way.

And for a second, I had something to say.

Or not say. Just that loud, unexpected laugh

that cut through the music, like a knife.

It worked, for a minute. Felt so good, so bold.

That quick, bright moment, worth more than gold.

Then the feeling passed, and the cup dropped down.

Just another clown in a crowded town.