Ambivalent on whether or not I like you.

Believing we will never work.

Considering shutting you out.

Determined not to talk to you.

Effortfully trying to hide my smiles.

Forgetting to keep my mouth shut.

Getting tounge tied while talking to you.

Humiliating myself as I trip down the hallway.

Indicting you for making me feel this way.

Judgy looks as I walk down the hall. 

Kicking myself for letting myself love you.

Laughs and stares, everybody knows my secret.

Maybe you like me too, maybe things aren't as bad as they seem.

No room to get caught up in dreamland though.

Only one of two things is possible, I catch you staring just a bit too long, or you have an eye problem.

Probably the latter of the two, no one would like me.

Questioning myself for the feelings you may or may not have.

Running home from school, I have to get my thoughts out.

Sobbing by the time I get home, where is my sketchpad?

Throwing pillows, blankets, and books. It has to be here somewhere!

Under the bed, on the dresser, it's nowhere!

Violent outbursts of "Where is it? Where?!"

Whipping around to see it on the window sill.

a Xenopus chirpping beside it, as if guarding the book as its own.

Yearning to grasp the book once again, but not gambling to scare off such a rare treasure.

the Zonary atmosphere reminds me, my tears can wait.