Mrs—

Raise your hand.

Creeping hand…. inches into the air….

Mrs—

            Mrs. you think that you know me.

            You know the way I act in school.

            I quietly listen to lectures and doodle in my notebook,

            Sometimes risking a glance at my phone.

            Mrs. you think that the person you see is the person I am;

            Quiet, calm, dreamy.

            But Mrs. you never care to look deeper

            Because you’re afraid of what you might find.

            Well, Mrs., I’ll tell you that’s not who I am.

            I’m just that way because the demons tearing at my soul engulf me.

            I really do try to pay attention;

            To do my assignments.

            But Mrs. you see last night when I got home

            My parents got mad again.

            My mother screamed at me for taking a tissue

            Because I had used too many last week.

            Mrs., I had I cold last week.

            My nose was running all night

            So I used a whole box of tissues.

            Last night I had to lock myself in my room to suppress the noise.

            Mrs., I didn’t know using tissues was so bad.

            Father stood by my door all night waiting for me to come out,

            But I didn’t.

            I didn’t shower; didn’t brush my teeth.

            Mrs., I didn’t want the yelling to start up again.

            I don’t know why they get so angry…

            I only try to make them proud.

            But I guess I shouldn’t have used that box of tissues.

            Mrs., I need someone to look up to.

            I need someone I can trust and who’ll love me.

            But I forgot to raise my hand.

            And I took too many tissues.

--Never mind.