Ink splutters from my mouth
The mortification threatens my stomach
I’m choking on poetry

My teacher smiles encouragingly
though I glimpse her eyes glazed with disappointment
that disappears behind narrow frames

She turns away sullenly
and I spit out the rotten globs of partially digested paper screaming indignantly at me

The acrid aftertaste of bitter words
still burns scars into my bloody tongue
I shudder and cough from the horrors I want to be open to

Not all poetry is a comforting whisper in my ear
as sweet as a lullaby, as deep as a canyon
stirring my soul into vulnerability

I reluctantly tear into another book and swallow the pages
Somewhat bittersweet
But still dry and musty