There are namss in this poem. Usually I substitute names, but because this poem is kinda secretive, Ima just turn the names into hashtags. Different amount of hashtags are different people.

Bubbles
You blow them.
They pop.
They get bigger,
They're gone.

Only a few of my bubbles have popped,
And ironically,
Those bubbles were the ones I tried to make bigger.

Everyone has a bubble in my heart.
Everyone I consider a friend.
Some of the bubbles are bigger
Than others.

The bubbles are different colors, too.
For people like # and ##
They're clear.
For people like ### and ####
They're grey.

Every bubble's simular, though.
They all hold love.
Different sizes hold different amounts,
Different colors hold different types.

And they only pop when I let go.

Take ##### for example.
I don't know how,
But her green bubble grew
Faster than normal.
So large, in fact,
That I had to share the weight of the bubble.
With #.

#'s rough with bubbles.
She pops them faster.

Pop.

After #####'s bubble popped,
# Felt bad.
She blew it back up,
And tried to give it back.
The bubble didn't pop this time,
My heart did.

I've always shamed myself
For falling so quickly.
For anyone.

Bubbles explain it.

I don't need to know them well
To have a bubble associated with them.
And sometimes.
The bubbles just float into my view.
The color, the size, the position,
If they all seem aligned,
I act on it.

But bubbles are
More easily popped
If you share them.

Maybe I'm better off
Being selfish sometimes.