Cold

I am cold.

Freezing even.

Sitting in a cramped desk

wishing

I were not at school.

My stomach stuffed with noodles

which I paid for

with my parents money.

 

I am cold.

Goosebumps line my arms

like cornfields.

But the earth

is warming.

Icebergs are melting

Polar bears

and islands,

drowning.

Clamoring to stay afloat,

screaming for help.

Yet, no one will hear them

over the arguments

and the fighting about

whether or not

they need saving.

 

I am cold.

I wish I was not at school

becoming agitated

by this cramped desk

counting down the minutes

until I can leave.

But there’s a girl.

hundreds, thousands of girls

at home.

counting down the years

until there is change

and they are awarded

the opportunity to go to school

wondering what makes them any different

from the boys

from me.

But how will these girls change their fate

If they cannot go to school.

 

And I,  

am cold

I am comically big for this miniscule desk.

My stomach full

of the food

that my parents bought me.

And I know

that there are people

whose stomachs are empty

in the world

in the country

in Berkeley

In this classroom.

 

But I don’t think about it

because I’m far too busy

being bored

and cramped

and

cold.

This poem is about: 
Me
My community
My country
Our world

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