but I mention living in my car for one summer and—
Breathe out 1, 2, 3—
—and I’m the one who’s “out of touch”
no better than a white girl in her bespoke school bus?
Now that your breath is even and deep
I want you to imagine you’re walking through a lush, cool forest.
Sunlight filters through the dense trees in patches
the air smells like moss and rainwater—
And what was all that business with Jamison?
She was a low-key dick to him at lunch.
He doesn’t seem that bad—
Now, in this forest, visualize a tall, wise tree
one that invites you to sit under its branches
back against its sturdy trunk—
Oh, fuck fuck shit!
I say, out loud this time
taking my EarPods out
and slumping onto my back in defeat.
I am not in a meditative mood.
I am high-key bothered—
playing the events of lunch
over and over in my head.
Why didn’t I just tell Lyric
our deal was offthat I wasn’t
interested anymore.
She may be gorgeous, but I don’t know if she’s worth
all this—drama.
But then I think about
that brief moment at lunch
when I put my hand on Lyric’s knee
