Untitled

I waited for the schoolbus
vulnerable to the cold wind and other children
The world, bountiful with space
which I could never quite fill
Sitting in the back
My tired head seeking solice against the window
Knees against my chest, maybe they won’t notice

Difference is a stratified label
applied by the insecurities of the majority
Gathering their many hands around my ankles
as they tug at my independence

And I wonder where is God
as they point and laugh this morning
I guess I’m different. I know I’m alone.










Back