there were two years
where it all happened
to me.

his disorder was a reaction
to the same goddamn thing
i endure(d) mostly alone,
and though mine swayed
the other direction, i knew
it was a coping mechanism.

like his.

and his wasn’t a punchline.
it was a backstory.

like the one that painted
the bully as a bad guy,
literally (legally allegedly)
happened to me, on my own
goddamn sofa.

but it wasn’t a punchline.
the hero hates him, too.

and this girl’s gothic mind
and suburban body revel
at your representation.

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