And so this is the place that I come to learn, my teacher propped
so
eloquently against her desk, her smile so soft as to suggest something
unforgivably sinful. I hold my breath. My companions in
the third row have
opted to trade in their laughs for looks of guilt. They no longer
think of
my charade sitting now with hands clasped in front of them in a lie
of
civility. Others that I have seen with ocassional smiles now
have looks of
contempt with eyes that not only pierce me but, also have that self-righteous
glow of being correct. Others, that I should act like or be with,
so many
times these words have been misused to judge me and guide me blindly
into a
world that has no place for me. Now, now I feel and know the
reasons that I
could not, would not, and did not act as them, and it is so vividly
clear to
me but I have not the strength to push away this hot, dry clump of
emotions
stuck in my throat to tell you. Still more, the pretty ones with
all that
they need or want, sit not tied against their will, but only hold that
vague
look of boredom and discontent at being held for someone else's stupidity
. .
. Mine. These are the ones that I want to show and sadly these
are the ones
that can not see. I wish to be as content as them, to have enough,
so that I
do not have to make up the rest. So I hold my breath and wish
for this time
to pass alittle faster and for this hot stale air to move alittle more
but, I
know that the blood will never dry from my hands so I lean in the corner
crucified for my sins.
Ashley "The Mad Poet"
Used with permission