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Intimidation
November 16, 2012
I am
approaching a cold, brightly lit room
filled with occupied chairs and lingering whispers.
I take a seat.
Palms sweating, heart racing;
I am
becoming one of them.
My mind scrambles for the words.
Everything I say is being judged.
And thinking back to the past,
how did I end up here?
I don’t deny it happened.
The evidence puts me in my place.
I am
guilty.
© Jill H., Pompton Plains, NJ
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