Those fingertips are bruised
Are they?
Yes, they're mine.
And that person, who I suppose is me,
Hit them against her glass bubble
For the three hundred and twenty-sixth time
This afternoon.
Are they?
Yes, they're mine.
And that person, who I suppose is me,
Hit them against her glass bubble
For the three hundred and twenty-sixth time
This afternoon.
This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.
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