Grade A
In Math class,
the only number
with value is
zero
In English,
the only adjectives
I care about are
fragile, small and
pretty
In History,
the only past I
think of, is mine,
and how it’s not
worth being in a
textbook
In Science,
the only cell
I can think of
is the one I’m
locked in,
too wide to
fit through the
gate
In Art,
the only colors
I use are the
ones painted
all over my
body
Day after day
of walking through
hallways filled
with strange
faces
And even when
I remove my
backpack, the
weight is still
there
The visible kind
and the not–
and the knots
in my hair are
becoming too
tight
And I can’t find
a shirt that will
fit me just
right
And why can’t
everyone just
be quiet
once in a
while
I tuck feelings
behind my ear
and why is my
back always tense–
I don’t understand
these types of
pain
The kind that only
seem to show when
you’re alone–
when you’re not
watching me,
analyzing every
move,
calculating every
breath I take as
if it were your
own subconscious
mind breathing in
and out,
in and out–
with all of the times
I looked in the
mirror and said
“No.”
Always wishing I
could say
“Yes.”
Never realizing
that I could
And maybe
someday I
will say
“Yes.”
But for now
I’ll turn in my
emptiness and
wait for a
grade
