For a Highschool Girl, On Highschool

There, I saw it,
in the corner of her eye was
an optical testimony of all my failures,
the nights spent crying and waiting
and wondering if after so and so
and this and that
and the dust settling horrors:

could it ever be the same?

Or am I insane? Her back receding now,
the silent tomes of condemnation;
these are written words I enslave,
tangle in my brain and tempting sense from

giving scent to,
invention springs in Da Vinci elf shoes.

I am an epic poet of my own humiliation;
of the certain craft of exclusion, hatings
and the swift blush of too-soon statements.

Did we share that moment I’ve been claiming,
or are my thoughts alone,
echoing my own stalemate?


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