Participation.

I spoke with a silent tone,

trapped in my own mind.

Blankly staring, cold to the bone.

My words can't be defined.

 

Teacher, your lectures are flat.

It pains me to hear your voice.

I wonder if I could drift away and that,

is by choice.

 

Why must I sit in mystery

thinking about what you just said?

You ask me a question about history.

Oh god. I just want to go back to bed.

 

Stuttering, I can't speak.

But teacher you call me out.

Making me feel weak.

And all I want to do is shout.

 

Teacher, don’t pick on me.

I can't express my thoughts well,

nor will I be.

But I'm here still.

 

Someday my voice will appear,

and teacher you'll hear

my little sneer

that grew during the school year.

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