no title 2-11-04

 

I sit here,

Silent on the bus,

No music playing in my headphones,

And it’s about 3:30 p.m.

My handwriting is awful,

being on the bus,

But I don’t much care.

I listen to other people’s conversations,

And wonder what their lives must be like.

One girl says she’s a whore,

One guy thinks he’s all that,

Someone else has a story to tell.

What’s my story?

What do other people perceive

when they listen to me?

Or do I say nothing?