Be open-minded and admit the possibility
That some things are objectively wrong
We all live in a constant state of gray area

I see you pretty often, maybe once every week or so
For a moment our bubbles come very close to overlapping
But they so far have always held firm
Which is, in one respect, kind of amazing
Yet in another, to be expected

Our bubbles are made of rubber and concrete
Our lives are so different - we’re separated by
Class, gender, age, ethnicity and health history
Different in almost every way you could imagine
Save for location, which again is amazing

If we ever step out of our bubbles one day
And I actually hope we do
It will be uncomfortable, I imagine, and also
Potentially dangerous for both of us
But it could turn out great

Most people ask themselves I guess
Whether it’s worth the risk
And say no and they probably make assumptions
And I so far haven’t made too many about you
Although to make none is impossible and so of that I am proud

Some things might be wrong even if
Everyone does them and even if
You or I do them constantly
Without an ounce of guilt
It’s possible anyway

I'm in a class,
We sit in chairs.
The teacher talks,
They listen and stare.

And I'm unfocused.

My pen is scratching,
My mind is clear,
The class is there,
And I am here.

And I should focus.

Oh, ****.
It's quiet.
Have I been caught?
This is something that I should not
Be doing
But I can't help it,
I'm trying to get it,
But my mind is flying,
And I'm sick of trying and
My brain is crying for
More than I'm offered and
**** IT!

I just can't focus.

A flash of unripe banana green hair,
And the solemn padding of thumbs hitting a screen,
The wisp’s of dying flame,
A worn sticker on a pure evening blue water bottle,
The tight warm grip,
Of a beanie on my head,
The soft wind that air vents disperse,
The crisp smell of a sparse winter’s day,
Like wasabi, but clogging my nose instead of cleaning it,
The din of speaking and eating in a popular coffee shop,
And I’m just on my way to class