Paper

Sitting in the back of the class,

desperately waiting for some attention in the middle of his lectures.

Yawning and stretching, i always do

My eyes keeps hiding from the words

i cannot do.

I try and try to stay awake

i try and try to listen away---

but everytime my eyes catches an empty paper

my hands seek far north, filling the lines.

It's not an habit, nor addiction.

It's my life, and its what I do.

My teacher starts to walk over,

accusing me of doing something else unnecessary in his class-

he takes the paper as it cries for me while it leaves in his hands.

She's crying loud

screaming out,

the paper is wet

from her invisible tears.

I grimace at the teacher

cluing him with wrong.

As he proceeds, i see another paper

just freshly ripped out.

I reach for it again

and start again