Bus Rides

All the places that we don’t halt at,
doesn’t seem to be a part of our story.

still i rise!

don’t you let the tears dry out in your eyes,
let them roll to your cheeks,

the only two residents of the house,
a mother and a daughter

how can you touch me
when I can’t touch myself?

a distinct odor,
a peculiar paint,

a reflection in the mirror
that stares