how dare you make me feel like i was over reacting
how dare you.
you walk by me.
and i’ve lost count how many times
your eyes have flickered from the drawstring on your sweatpants to the triangle of negative space formed by the
way i sit on the floor—
legs locked and crossed.
you stared down the trash can. as if it was so interesting to you,
hands hidden against the purplish brown plastic,
but still clearly in front of you,
like a child whining in line
‘you should have gone before we left’
in a way i wish that’s all you were doing.
a gross display of shamelessness, but no.
you just keep walking back and forth.
i alert my friends,
we all squish against the wall,
facing towards you.
one of my friends says she knows you.
that you pushed her once, in second period.
she laughs it off, so do both of them.
but i feel sick to my stomach as you continue pacing.
i’m not surprised.
not even disappointed.
i don’t know what i am,
but it makes me dizzy and you step closer to me each time you walk by
slow down and take a long glance,
hand warms itself beneath your
we leave early for class then,
feeling dirty and shamed.
i’m shaking, and my eyes are blurry and i feel so dramatic.
i’m making such a big deal out of nothing.
but it’s not nothing.
it might not be everything but it’s something
and that’s equally as dangerous to ignore.
i wish i knew your name.
i would do what they claim
‘ruins young men’s lives for no good reason’
so that you never burn a path in the acrylic tile by the small white Mamava again.
I used to feel safe there.
How Dare You?