Oh, amateur poetry!
How I wish I could stop thinking of you that way!
I mean you, you words on the page.
I mean those aqua blue markings.
They look so different close-up!
I mean, under the microscope.
They became splotches.
My eyes widened,
let in more light.
And it was all a game.
Was I really learning?
In that school, in those classrooms?
Yes, at times.
But thoughts of boys and giggles and colour palettes
for the eyes, lids, brushes, canvases
The clear-lip-glossed/brown-lined lips
I saw them in the other mirror.
And the water.
They put it on their hair to make it look greasier.
What a novel thought!
But I, with my white girl looks and taste,
used different shades
and followed other styles
And, what was my question?
Did I learn there?

Deepest impressions flow from smelly girls' bathrooms.
Not the desks, labs, white boards.
Huh.
Maybe I'll feel differently tomorrow.