Schroedinger’s Bra Strap

Like schroedingers cat

The tank top strap you’re looking at 

Wondering if it’s a bra or something far less scandalous

Is simultaneously both

Until you ask me for the truth.

Both options are the truth.

If you thought it was a bra

Wouldn’t anyone? 

Wouldn’t that horribly horny boy sitting next to me in 

Bible class think the same thing?

Wouldn’t his learning about Jesus be hindered by this

Schroedingers bra strap?

And the poison that may or may not have killed that cat

Is the same poison that may or may not be infecting his head?

The thought that somewhere,

Connected to this piece of fabric

Is a secret boob?

A secret boob that’s just hiding away 

And waiting to be considered so intricately?

Well if that’s the case

I’m so terribly sorry.

I have to go change right away

I can’t go walking around showcasing the idea that I wear a bra,

It’s not like these boys can just see the shape of my body or anything.

I might as well just leave school for the whole day.

After all, my education doesn’t matter

And this tank top strap is just going to keep getting in the way

Until I find a different shirt to wear

Or a skirt that goes below my knees

Or pants that aren’t too tight 

Or something just a little less scandalous

Until my schroedingers bra strap is effectively dead.

It’s dead.

You killed it, go you!

You killed a philosophical phenomenon!

Your poison wiped out centuries of common sense,

Infected the minds of thousands of children,

Let them rot.

You taught girls that their necessities are shameful

That they are unimportant as human beings.

You taught boys that their dirty thoughts are fine

And that they are worthy of subsequent dirty actions,

That they don’t need to control themselves

Because they are our only future,

So I applaud you.

You have succeeded in making important change

By asking me a useless question

That has only led to confusion.

Your work today will not be forgotten.

In fact, I immortalized it for you. 

So one day when you win your Nobel shame prize

Think of me

And my schroedingers bra strap. 

This poem is about: 
Me
My community

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