School was boring, so i read.

i hid books inside my books,

i read the posters on the walls.

on the far wall ,

in front of metaphors,

my eyes would drift. 

daydreaming

and meeting the silhouette of a boy.

 

School was boring, so he noticed.

the eyes of a girl, 

ever so innocently staring.

“do you have a crush on me?”

in front of the whole class he asked,

then consulted our teacher,

i didn’t. . . did i?

 

School was boring, so we talked.

talked during class,

talked during lunch,

talked in the halls,

talked inside the bathroom stalls.

 

School was boring, so i listened.

You told me i loved You.

that this was special for us,

the outcasts of our generation.

building yourself as a god,

a king or a hero,

and me

a queen to stand by 

Your side.

 

School was boring, so we planned,

for anarchy,

for corruption.

building governments in our notebooks,

empires in our heads,

calculating costs of tanks and boats, 

shopping for our tropical escape.

 

School was boring, but You were a King,

Built-in God’s image 

(if not God Yourself)

demanding the praise i so willingly gave

and painting with words a castle

for me to live in

for You