i took a bus to the bookstore
looking for a book that used to mean a lot to me
even though i’d forgotten what it was about
i found it and it cost me twenty dollars, which is a lot for a story
but i’d to be responsible
for the death of the publishing industry.

i bought a coffee that tasted like a shot in the face;
just the way i like it.
a group of drunk guys with hoodies at the bus stop
shouted at me and tried to make me go home with them
i glared at them and turned away
i wished my hair was shorter
but i was glad i’d put on a sweater
because i’d hate to be responsible
for being a victim because of what i wore.

they stood behind me staring for awhile, it shook me to my core
they got into a fistfight with another girl instead of touching me
which is good because i’m sick of hand in places they don’t belong
she fought them off and someone called the police; all i could think was it could have been me
and i’d hate to be responsible
for the arrest of a gang of perverts.

i still flinched at every sudden movement
for the rest of the night
and i still cried on the walk home
i made a joke with myself that it was just because it had stopped raining
and i’d hate to be responsible
for letting the world go dry.

my uncle told me the boys at the bus stop
did what they did because of the color of their skin
i wished for a moment he knew how it felt
to be so scared i thought i’d be sick
i wanted to tell him he should have told me he was glad i was okay
instead of saying racist things and laughing as he did
but i’d hate to be responsible
for teaching a man how not to be ignorant.