I spend most of my time in some sort of bubble.

Sometimes it’s a lonely bubble,

When everyone has someone and I’m simply no one.

Sometimes I stare out at all the people who are just so alive.

They’re not drowning,

Staring up at the light as they run out of oxygen.

Sometimes my bubble is a cage,

A prison I designed myself.

Sometimes my bubble is safety.

With headphones over my ears and my nose in a book,

My bubble is a different world,

A quiet, peaceful place.

I’m not me in my bubble,

I’m everything and nothing and safe.

The walls of my bubble protect me from the cold, cruel world.

Sometimes my bubble pops.

And then I’m exposed, threatened.

It’s me against the world,

And I can’t hide from the universe anymore.

There’s no defense,

Nothing between me and potential danger.

Honestly, it’s terrifying.

Because I’m one of those people with whole damn lives.

There’s a world outside my bubble,

Just waiting for me to experience.

I’ve got my very own existence to live.

And I can’t do that if I’m hiding in a bubble.