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#publictransport
grey textile, rocky roads delectable in locomotion mechanical reshuffling human trenches herds obscuring worldviews and the bus that drags on breath of trepidation heatwave of monoxides grey and wool thicket of sorrows, unfulfilled dreams, blanket of undying sleep a bus bell, signalling the stop. bus stopping
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Jan 21, 2024
Jan 21, 2024 at 4:54 AM UTC
Evening crowd
I sit with intravenous headphones              a dopamine drip           my dress pants are torn at the inner knee my hair smells of yeast my face itches my eyes wander we screech to a halt and it hisses like a feral cat the platform then filled with bodies that funnel in               shuffling         bright as the undead one seat from me               he's balding         and in the absense of hair, scabs polka dotted, uneavendly. He barks to a younger man about his dog but the younger man just stares straight forward In the disabled seating, sits a woman who is not pregnant              or crippled                      or elderly         her toenails are a browny-yellow, and curled like the petals of an uprooted daffodil her breath is audible, from the tenth row back             even over the bald man                     even over the chugging motor         At the front a boy sits with his older brother - who points at pictures in a tattered laminate book and grunts            yes         and makes sounds           yes, thats right, bus         and groans          it's okay, you'll see mum soon       in discomfort, snot seeping from his nose, spit falling to the floor Again, we screech to a halt the alley cat hisses only one at this platform Her hair is neck length her slip is long, silky and sky-blue           as are her eyes         fingers fiddle at the purse          pursed lipped, she smiles       ... at the bus driver Her boots sound the isle they watch like its a runway finding her way Next to the boy with the greasy hair and the torn pants and the sauce stained uniform and the wandering eyes and the inability to start a conversation           and she sits                 and they sit
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Mar 1, 2020
Mar 1, 2020 at 11:03 AM UTC
On the bus
I sit with intravenous headphones              a dopamine drip           my dress pants are torn at the inner knee my hair smells of yeast my face itches my eyes wander we screech to a halt and it hisses like a feral cat the platform then filled with bodies that funnel in               shuffling         bright as the undead one seat from me               he's balding         and in the absense of hair, scabs polka dotted, uneavendly. He barks to a younger man about his dog but the younger man just stares straight forward In the disabled seating, sits a woman who is not pregnant              or crippled                      or elderly         her toenails are a browny-yellow, and curled like the petals of an uprooted daffodil her breath is audible, from the tenth row back             even over the bald man                     even over the chugging motor         At the front a boy sits with his older brother - who points at pictures in a tattered laminate book and grunts            yes         and makes sounds           yes, thats right, bus         and groans          it's okay, you'll see mum soon       in discomfort, snot seeping from his nose, spit falling to the floor Again, we screech to a halt the alley cat hisses only one at this platform Her hair is neck length her slip is long, silky and sky-blue           as are her eyes         fingers fiddle at the purse          pursed lipped, she smiles       ... at the bus driver Her boots sound the isle they watch like its a runway finding her way Next to the boy with the greasy hair and the torn pants and the sauce stained uniform and the wandering eyes and the inability to start a conversation           and she sits                 and they sit
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oh, how the boys try to impress the girls with their kickflips and the slam of the wheels oh, how they skate and the noise that they make the teenagers at the bus stop — a public mistake oh, how they'll shout at the top of their lungs on this public transport — i am the alpha testosterone takes charge, oh how the confidence of boys creates the environment of irritated discomfort oh, how the ridiculousness of teen boys provides entertainment when we forgive their misogynist vibes and bad behaviour — we will say boys will be boys "i'll have *** with your sister" — the conversation they employ and oh, how they will fare evade — but hey, so will i i wish i had their confidence at certain times and how i wish my teen years were filled with much more fun if i was less dysphoric and more proud of myself and when they leave the bus a peace is then regained the energy they took with them; a calm it creates
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Jan 17, 2020
Jan 17, 2020 at 7:39 AM UTC
The Boys
Ever see someone on a bus, On a train, Or in a park? And they smile, Or tuck their hair behind an ear, Laugh, Or even quietly frown. Ever see someone in public, And picture a life? Envision a fleeting world where you swallow fear, And smile? Ever catch a glimpse of a life you could live?
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Aug 15, 2018
Aug 15, 2018 at 3:00 PM UTC
A glimpse