poetically infinite public transit

bus number 32 takes you to bus number 19

which takes you to your house.

bus number 17 doesn't exist, but

maybe that's why you know it'll take you home.


bus number 8 takes you to the mall and

the transit rail there will take you from

ross to hot topic.

i used to be scared of hot topic,

that's where all of the bad kids go,

but now it's the only place i can find shirts in my style

and size.

its as if all stoner teens looking for guns n' roses tee shirts

have universally decided to be less than a size zero.

i am less than a size zero, but only because

there is a voice inside my head that tells me i don't deserve to eat.


what bus number takes me on the road to recovery?


bus number 20 takes you to transit center 12,

which takes you to

whatever bus you wish to go on.


i want to go to transit center 12 and ask the man behind the counter

how to get exactly where i am looking to go.


i would tell him,

i am looking for the bus to take me to happiness,

what number is that?

because i’ve been on the highway to hell on a bus named mental illness for the past four years

and i want to get off so bad.


i would tell him,

i want the bus that will take me to his smile,

to the boy who's lips curl into the shape of a heart when he's happy,

to the young man he is becoming

by making me into a woman, i

would tell him,

it's unfair that sex is the universal indicator of womanhood but

it doesn't seem to make me as angry if i’m talking about him and me

instead of just



i would tell him,

i am looking for bus number 17,

the bus that doesn't exist,

the bus that will take me home.


he will repeat for me the fact that it does not exist and i would tell him,

neither does my home,

i have been looking for a bus to take me somewhere that i feel i belong

for so long

that i’ve forgotten

that it doesn't exist.


This poem is about: 
My community
Our world


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