I woke up this morning and I couldn't get out of bed,
staring at the ceiling
and I knew
there was a part of me missing
(or never there to begin with)
and I knew
I couldn't get it back
and I knew
I would have to walk through school's halls,
pretending I was whole,
that I felt connected to a world that seemed so distant.
I knew
that I was no longer a human being
but my soul a bag of bones, my insides were spooned out
and eaten by the gods
(or perhaps cruel creatures called children).
It didn't matter. None of it did.
I wondered, Isn't it funny?
It was funny how I kept waking up
day after day after day
when I felt dead,
still alive,
waking up
but missing.

I woke up this morning
and I went on the bus
anyway.