Grass

There are people in the park selling drugs to other people in the park. Cars are passing us. Most of them go by once and we never see them again, but some circle several times because the people inside them are nervous. You and me, we’re walking and holding hands, and I’m starting to free my hand from yours because you’re making me feel bad for wanting the things I do. And I feel like I can’t help who I am, and sometimes I don’t want to be reminded that I’m strange. The things you’re saying today have me feeling misplaced. Now I wish I had just stayed in my bedroom, but instead I answered my phone. I wish I had known better. I wish I knew what I needed.

Now there are people selling drugs to us in the park. When we leave, I stare from the passenger’s seat at all of them. I try to watch for their faces as we pass them, but they never turn to look. They’re content with what they’re doing, while I’m always looking out of whatever window I’m sitting next to at the time.