Two snickering boys at a bus-stop
with makeup-plastered girls: they laugh at a
woman as she talks to herself. They gob.
Throughout her life she's been spat on, for matter.
Brain matter. She went through changes in youth.
Her bullies killed the spritely in her soul.
She echoed down into a vibrating hole,
a black hole, hidden now under a groove.
Sometimes, a stab of anxiety fills
your gut, spills in like turbid water; then
it goes - you say 'no matter', and it stills.
But other brains still patter - scream and rent.
One girl of the group sees her eyes, so clear.
Through stigma, at sea, scared, she scrambles to hear.
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