October 8, 2009
Pencils sharpened,
Being clicked.
Some tap gently on the paper,
Others hard enough to break the lead.

No one talks,
They only write
Whatever is on their minds.
School. Family. Friends. Relationships.
They keep out the bad things,
Knowing the teacher will one day read it.
Drugs. Alcohol. Abuse.
A need. A want. An addiction.

The teacher tells them to stop.
They must turn it in that day,
Something they so rarely do.

A girls sits in the front,
Quiet and calm as she reads
What she has written.
A poem.
To the point.
To many it will not be sweet.

A tear falls onto the paper,
And she hides her face.
She collects the row's journals,
And acts as if nothing is wrong.

Just like everyone else.

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