March 11, 2009
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My pencil moves
Up and down
With the unmistakable rhythm
Of high school
A sharp breath marks it
The gray walls are now filled with brilliant color
But no shape
My eyes dart
I breathe with no relief
As though I am suffocating
Palms sweaty
I can feel my heart beat,
Right again, Mr. Poe,
Not nervous
These walls may not contain me
I want to run with them
I want to feel the suns energy
In the rain
Yet these are unappealing
I want only one thing.
I am
The very thing my mother,
The mothers
Have and has warned us of since we were young girls
I hope these have been warned of me.

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