On the days when I feel small, I hide myself in my bed and hope my roommates go away.
I live in my own bubble, thrive, and get Snapchat messages from boys
whom I really don't care for, mostly.
I watch movies on repeat, I've lost count of how many times I've seen The Breakfast Club
or drooled over Patrick Swayze in Dirty Dancing.
Homework doesn't exist, the weekday doesn't exist,
sundown.
I write about love in a way that makes me seem so innocent,
love me, love my smile, love the way I write about you, so french.
It's late, now, and I want to sleep but my Bubble World is thriving.
I try to, like God, feel big enough to stop my own little universe.
I turn off.
Maybe if I laid like this, I can go to sleep.