Reality MAG

By Unknown, Unknown, Unknown

   so I sit,

cross-legged on my bed,

listening to some wanna-be music,

on some wanna-be radio station.

I don't want to be here,

don't want to sit cross-legged,

or any legged, listening to this

obnoxious DJ.

I want to jump up, to scream,

scream until my throat aches,

until no sound comes out,


And hey,

if the world is a vampire,

What am I?

... the snowman that my sister made

that has now melted into a molehill?

or, what about

the faint memory

of a dream?

the dream that you only remember

when you're loading the dishwasher

or eating a peanut butter sandwich.


why can't I just disregard my life,

like the kid who sits,

with his hat over his eyes,

reeking of smoke,

his pants ten sizes too big,

in the back of carefteria study?


not me.

I ride the bus every day,

go to class,

walk the halls


girls who are leaving next month,

to have a baby,

girls who wear toomuch make-up,

try to phard

to please their boyfriends who sit,

slumped over in cafeteria study,

reeking of smoke,

and hatred.

Those same girls return to school,

a soft shade of lavender circles their eyes,

they try to hide it,

with too much make-up,

but I know.

Not what they're going through,

but how they feel.

They're so confident,

they know exactly who they are,

listening to their wanna-be radio stations

and obnoxious DJs

but they don't seem to notice.

So why do I?

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