It was like sliding
into third,
gritty and all
at once.
Cinder block walls
in a formation
not unlike a prison cell.
A cheap pine bed,
meant for children
half my age.
The air,
stifling.
From August heat,
or new oppression-
I can't tell,
won't ever be able to.
The room is mirrored
like two halves of my brain,
identical in an unnerving way.
A poster falls onto the bed
with a defeated whoosh
in the heat-
A Space Jam poster.
I can't handle the closet small
enough I can't even disappear there.
There is a gross damp feel
under my feet
from the humid bathroom for a whole
hall of bleach-blonde girls who
don't notice one
misfit here or there.
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