“Who here likes to write?”

The silence of the room is deafening,
The only way they’d shut up.
I hear the clicking of the cell phones,
The quiet whispering and giggling.
But that all stopped as the voice echoed,
The question left in the air like a lingering fog.
No one responds,
Because no one paid attention.
I raise my hand slightly,
Unsure of my answer.
Even more fearful of the question.
He laughs at the sight:
Two pale hands in a sea of ignorant heads.
I felt proud at my hand,
Because no one else raised theirs.
Yet now I am an outcast,
A hand in a sea of eyes.
Even now I am an invisible hand,
Because I am not the only one.
They no longer make me special.
I am just another awkward hand,
In the sea of anonymity.