Living in a Bubble

I am not meant to live in a bubble.
By the sheer nature of trying and failing, like the inner me condemned the outer me to be unable to fit in a bubble.  Yea, I was always this voluptuous size; yet the diminutive me refused even then to remain in a bubble for all of life.
it began when my language was a problem, I thought faster than I spoke and with the limitations of English - let's just say I loved the phrase of forget about it, because I got tired of explaining to my parents what I was trying to say;
then, it was because well my beauty meant I am supposed to fix the world, I felt like the guys from the hood passed around a cheat sheet so they all told me how "being with you would fix their lives" leaving me to wonder well what is in it for me and if you need fixing how is that my responsibility... Nough to say younger years were filled with shortlived hello's that quickly turned to bye-bye.

then I said, oh wait - Men, Adult men with experience they will do better, right? Wrong!! they wanted me as a showcase, on a shelf, pristine, just the right size, smile, make up, length of hair and one when he realized that these beautiful locks only had so much growth potential wanted me to wear extensions - the nerve!

the fixings and pullings, and suggesting, and insisting continued until now I don't fit in a bubble. I mean all this beauty would require a bubble 3 feet wide, by 6 feet tall, and let's not include room to breath; just imagine that bubble riding the city subway -- it would need a zap potential just so that people wouldn't impinge on my space...

All to say, bubbles should be a game played with a little bit of soap (yes I am a child of the 60s), and should be blown for a short while, pop, and then allow the person to go back to reality.