Sitting on the red bench

The busted, rusted, nasty school bench

The place I used to go when the teacher had enough of me

What an ugly word



Sitting on the red bench

Inconspicuously lacing my fingers through yours

Wishinghopingpraying that nobody sees us

I have a lit match in my heart but it's hard to catch fire when you're underwater.


The kids who inhabit

My mind

My life

My fourth period physics class with Mr. Gonzales

They were all born normal

They don't know the tears that stain my freckled face like pencil shavings out of the sharpener.


Sometimes I wonder if one day I will be able to hold your hand without fear of that redheaded girl who was not born gay.


She doesn't even know and still she calls me a whorebitchcowloseronlydoingitforattention.


Sometimes I wonder if you take me seriously. No one else does.


I want you to light the fire in your heart with the match in mine.


Sitting on the red bench

Two young girls innocuously sitting on the red school bench

The place we go when we have enough of the world

Holding our hands behind a fortress of backpacks and slurs

One day we will start a fire.


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