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There Should Not Be Rejects in the Art Room
Harsh white tiles map out the room,
The light gray pattern is the mimicry of flaws.
Bundles of bodies hover in their own secret groups.
I lack-I lack-I do not know.
Negativity crawls in the crevices
Of the pale painted cinderblock walls.
If I like-they call “obsessed.”
What I do not-heads turn, unspoken: “outcast.”
She seats herself, centered in my field of view.
Four years of anger is too short for her.
Her eyes are fixed on me,
I am in a glass jar being analyzed.
I exhale and liberate the air from inside.
She was a vindictive friend, until I said “no more.”
I keep my eyes out of contact
As I step in the room.
People gather in exclusive groups
They never get it. They never will-