Raise your hand.
Creeping hand…. inches into the air….
Mrs. you think that you know me.
You know the way I act in school.
I quietly listen to lectures and doodle in my notebook,
Sometimes risking a glance at my phone.
Mrs. you think that the person you see is the person I am;
Quiet, calm, dreamy.
But Mrs. you never care to look deeper
Because you’re afraid of what you might find.
Well, Mrs., I’ll tell you that’s not who I am.
I’m just that way because the demons tearing at my soul engulf me.
I really do try to pay attention;
To do my assignments.
But Mrs. you see last night when I got home
My parents got mad again.
My mother screamed at me for taking a tissue
Because I had used too many last week.
Mrs., I had I cold last week.
My nose was running all night
So I used a whole box of tissues.
Last night I had to lock myself in my room to suppress the noise.
Mrs., I didn’t know using tissues was so bad.
Father stood by my door all night waiting for me to come out,
But I didn’t.
I didn’t shower; didn’t brush my teeth.
Mrs., I didn’t want the yelling to start up again.
I don’t know why they get so angry…
I only try to make them proud.
But I guess I shouldn’t have used that box of tissues.
Mrs., I need someone to look up to.
I need someone I can trust and who’ll love me.
But I forgot to raise my hand.
And I took too many tissues.