A Spanish final.
An oral Spanish final.
After weeks of studying,
I know what I need to know.
But when my name is called,
all that information goes out the window.
"Cuantos hermanos tienes?"
Hermanos...cuantos...oh.
He wants to know how many siblings I have.
Wait, how many DO I have?!
Two, right.
"Tengo dos hermanas."
Hands sweat bullets.
Eyes dance around the room.
Stomach clenches.
More and more knowledge questions.
I can't do this.
I'm trembling
and my breathing is shallow.
I start saying "I don't know" to every question.
He's getting irritated.
I tell myself,
"Just say SOMETHING, dumbass."
I know this stuff,
but I can't verbalize it.
My sentences are fragmented,
if I use sentences at all.
Answers are concise
and costing the grade.
But I don't care.
I need to get out of here.
Need oxygen.
We're almost done with this torture.
Really,
it's torture.
I give bullshit answers
and see the bad grade written.
Nothing can be done about it.
I wonder how many times
I've used the expression "uh..."
It doesn't matter.
I'm finally dismissed
and speedwalk to my seat.
Tears well up in my eyes
and the temptation to break something
is roaring within my chest.
But instead I write this poem
and pray thatt I can forget my
social awkwardness
for five fucking minutes.