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
