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I can't exactly explain
Why this afternoon on the bus was different.

Sitting in the back,
I always
Clog my ears with ear buds and,
Stare out the back window.

But today,
Something looked different.

A fence I've never noticed before
On the highway, sped by my eyes
Crossing them silly.

Mind you I take this route and do the same thing
Daily.

Doesn't seem like much to you
But it's major.

'Cus I also noticed
That the outside world
(Well outside the bus)
Looked eerily
Clear.

Like the abstract art
I see on blogs.

I'm starting to notice that the outside world looks different.
And I have a couple of theories for this.

My eyes,
Spoiling with age,
Are showing me what I think I want to see,
My mind,
Spoiling with rot,
Is making things up,
Or maybe,
It's neither.

Maybe it's the fact that
I'm new now,
A new person,
And my eyes have been pried open to see what I've been missing.
Yeah,
It was right under my nose
But,
It was something I wasn't supposed to see.
I wasn't supposed to look out the window and feel right inside.
I was supposed to look and see despair,
Think,
If I can't experience what others can
Why not just go at my eye sockets with a corkscrew?

But not anymore.
Now that I'm new,
A new person,
Yes,
I can enjoy life.
Just breeze on by without a care in the world.

Gaze at the simplest of things
For instance,
An orange
And see other windows.
Windows to other lands,
Foreign places.

Other lands,
Foreign places,
I'll never go to of course.

'Cus when I get off the bus,
The outside world
(Now the inside world)
Looks just as shitty as it did when I boarded the bus
In the first place.

A pile of dog turd over here,
The dog that made it over there,
Strangers in passing-by cars looking at me sideways.
I trip on the misleveled sidewalk and almost eat it
(Dog shit that is),
I gag on today's lunch 'cus obviously the buffalo wrap we had
Didn't agree with me,
My mouth's dry,
My water bottle's empty,
My eyes are watering,
My hands are shaky,
When I cross the street a moving van almost licks me,
My hair's frizzy and lackluster.

Maybe,
The bus is my new place of refuge.
Maybe all hope and determination
Is through the window
And the instructions on how to work the emergency door.

Maybe,
I can still make it.

Maybe,
This is my way out.

On the school bus.
Only.

Maybe,
This is where I'm supposed to go.

Maybe,
It's just the protective film
On the windows fucking things up.