A bubble, My bubble


I live in this bubble.

A bubble of bustle,

Pushing, shoving, spitting,

Maybe not spitting.

I wouldn’t say it’s a nice bubble.

In fact it can be quite nasty.

But this bubble is like a second home.

I have good memories, the ones I cherish,

and bad memories too.

I live in this bubble,

I don’t realize it sometimes, but when I do,

I know it’s where I belong

This bubble has a part in my life.

I’m accepted, and I’m no longer a stray sheep.

I’ve found my way in the flock

I think it’s reassuring to know there is somewhere else that I’m accepted.

Somewhere I am free.

That’s why I love my bubble.

This bubble is my home.

This bubble is my freedom.

This bubble… is my fate.

This bubble… is school.