I found a poem in the face of a professional that couldn’t bear to be that on this day
dragging into class, with a long fifty minutes awaiting
10:00 had hit and the clock was the only thing that had complete attention
It was that November day where the outside air had sucked its way in past the clear windows and purple drapes
We were all shivering with our hands in our pockets waiting
Waiting for that old blonde haired teacher to come in and create yet another boring atmosphere
But on this November day a poem had replaced the usual mood
Her hands rubbing up and down her pale face
Her navy blue jeans shaking in the cold
The tips of her solid black heels grinding the floor
Suddenly Mrs G had let us all know what was really going on
Her eyes had moved from her jeans up to her face to cover the watery tears flowing down
It was on November 8th that my teacher had uncontrollably let all emotions loose as the attempt at the the nations first female president was a failure
It was on November 8th that a poem regarding female perspective was created and I couldn’t help but feel shocked when reading it