not mine

i am told it is mine. the unknown room, the weird shifty walls, the unmade bed.

visitors come looking for me. i confront the empty kitchen, i look for food. i look for a place to seat them because --

i cannot admit that i do not know them. that all this is not mine.

the footprints that scar the polished floor are not mine and neither are these shoes i am putting on.

and when i laugh to mask my fear the laughter isn't mine.

plastic bunny ears

the big fat bully who read my diary where i called her fat will have her revenge by having me run with plastic bunny ears while she chases me, catches me, beats me up.

i try them on but i feel the first twinge of clarity, of not belonging.

my friends arrive. like me, they are in st scho uniform.

"where were you?" i ask. i show them the ears.

"we came from UP," they say.

"that's where i'm from now," i say. i mull over my own words. i'm having trouble understanding what they mean. now, now, now. the uniforms are a mistake. so is this place, the time, these plastic bunny ears.

she touches my back to appease me.