I drive in a small bus,
Not a '
special-needs' bus,
Not a '
handycaped' bus,
And most of all not the vague-ideas-you-have-about-the-average-
person-whos-in-it bus.
My bus drivers name is Karl,
he has a large
sticker over his head
that says:
My name is:
He
speeds,
but I _dont_ really care.
When its a nice day,
Karl opens the windows,
I stick my head out and bring it back in just before an on comming car hits me.
Sometimes I
wish one might,
It would end much better that way.
Better then having the respect of a
curly-fry,
Better then being
visually assaulted by the un-knowing,
Better then being saddened for being
the way you simply are.
One day,
When snow flakes did fall from the sky,
Karl stoped the bus to look around,
A snow ball hit the window with a sudden
T H U D
I looked at my window,
it smashed in a way that I cannot describe,
it smashed what little hope I had left in
humanity.
It smashed my
mind,
body, and
soul.
Karl frowned,
and pull away,
I knew he was as much of an
empty shell as me.
I dont want to hear about your pain,
I have enough of my own on my small bus.