With the last letter scrawled on the board,
the teacher packed her things ready to go:
"Make sure to drop your notes📚 on my desk when you're done."
"Yes."
With that she was gone--
deaf to our monotone reply
unfeeling to our lethargy.
"Do make haste, submit your notes before the next teacher comes."
My seat partner urges.
"Mm",came my short reply.
The stars✨ soon draped their habitual blanket,
it's guests seeking refuge in its solace.
But soon, that all came undone with golden dust:
"Now children, welcome your new teacher, Miss Simone.
She'll be your homeroom teacher."
"Good day..."
My silence knocks against my partner's
head.
"Why the silence?"
"Where is Miss Blythe?"
"She is with child."
The sand trickles⏳,
my patience grinds.
My gut says one
but their expression,another.
"Your handwriting📝 should be more legible.
You can ask Sira for help."
Miss Simone advises no room for bargain.
Another time, it's my books.
"Get recommendations from Dolores; she can be an angel."
Then it's the head.
then the fingers.
The stuffy feeling in my chest increases.
The caste is set,
the battle line drawn--
her the queen of spades♠️.
'Didn't you like it better when Miss Blythe is here.'
My seat partner's smile refutes me.
'Oh I think it was better when your words could be counted why don't you take lessons from Akeno over there.'
The hula drums my heart forms
the weights hang over my head,
her voice dripping with an iron tang.
My seat partner now dwells on the other side.
The blue pills they take.
It was a small itch,
then a tick,
a scratch.
Full hammering🔨 it is.
Day and night,she holds that ruler📏into my face,
into my head--
her spades not far behind.
Her whispers ,
now turned insidious screams
The battle line ⛓️weaves in and out of reality.
In existence.
Shedding time into fragments.
The ruler once unassuming,
now turned sentient,
divides us into blue and red ticks.
making me a sole soldier,
of the red ticks' army.
Bootlicking, I try.
A course taken and failed.
I've had it.
"Comparar e contrastar!
Bigyo wa daejo!
Hikaku to taishō!
Bî jiào hé duì bî!
Tulna aur virodh!"
Oh the applause is gone and now you've found a way to fill the ruling,
into your calculations📇,
into your scales.
But what can I expect?
Your balance⚖️beams aren't always equal, are they?
YOU ARE READING
FLEETING THOUGHTS
General FictionWriting poems for the blues. To let my inner voice have her own podium. Just for fun actually. Or maybe not, depends on how you interpret it, It still all depends on the human mind And heart in the end.
