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Being the Mouse MAG
And like a deserted animal I strayed away.
The noises and commotion stirring something I’d come to fear,
Always known, hiding in different parts of my body.
Seeping out when the moment was at hand.
In the back of my throat, the lump that won’t go down,
In the base of my stomach, twisted and gnarled.
The cold sweat on my nose, I hastily brush off.
Converse on carpet I walk through the classroom to the hall,
I imagine a mouse.
Scurrying across the kitchen, trailing after the thing it wants most.
Or is it running from a predator?
The broom is at my attention now,
Swatting at the mouse.
Crushed and battered, I stray to the library.
They look up, I look down.
I follow the rows of books, each one a portal of forgetfulness
Calling me to read it.
I have all the time in the world, but no time to lose.
I slink to the back of the library,
Finding a corner and taking a seat.
Finding a book and curling up tight.
Eyes are on words, but my mind is elsewhere.
It’s in the lunchroom, conversing with friends.
It’s outside, at the tennis court, cheering.
It’s in the bathroom, gossiping with a stranger.
As much as I want to, need to,
The side that I’ve relied on has led me astray.
Tempting with the ideal of everything,
But knowing I can’t get it while nestled in its wing.
Cool salted tears stain my face with regret,
A remorse I never knew existed.
I scan the titles of the books,
So many people writing so many tales,
The bell has rung.
I pick up my things,
And finish the chapter I am in.