Graduation

I had my gig figured out in high school.

I was art building trash

walking around like I owned the place

in high-waisted thrift store skirts

and Bill Cosby sweaters

always with a song to sing

and a comeback to anything.

I knew my place

I knew how much I could use my edge to intimidate

I knew where to go

and how far I wanted to deviate.

At graduation

I sat in the front fow,

barefoot,

black notebook in my lap,

tallying how many times the speakers

mentioned god,

laughing aloud,

drawing the football stadium.

when I left,

10 minutes after the ceremony,

it was my only high school

fan girl crush

on some guy I spoke to twice

keeping me.

I found him

amongst a crowd of

of thousands

.

I considered giving him my number,

saying something coy and confident.

but then I remembered

this isn’t sixteen candles or

pretty in pink.

this popular kid

doesn’t secretly dig this art freak.

I knew my place

and got the hell out of there.