Different languages are spoken in this room
Were dozens of us congregate
For a similar purpose.
They speak in riddles
Which I call lies
But when I speak my mind
They call it rude and blunt.
Bullying someone means you like them
Apparently…
Yet I don’t think
The others like me
Despite the spit balls
The tripping
The insults.
Those in charge say we are supposed to read
But my peers say that reading is for nerds
Yet I thought nerds were the ones who made things?
And made things happen…
Eye contact makes me uncomfortable
But I’m supposed to do it anyway
Even though when I do
The others show me how much they like me
Even more.
The lights don’t seem to bother the others
Nor the bell.
I just want to play with the clay in the corner
Molding it into the shape of a sphere
“That’s our planet!”
The teacher says.
I wonder
Is it mine?