in this room i am the youngest, smallest i hear pieces of tens of conversations never getting to taste the full conversation the pieces i hear are made up of knives instead of words each letter is another rope tying around my neck the walls seem like they are closing in on me i am waiting for the pain signaling there is no more space for me my throat is tightening in the anticipation of someone noticing noticing the girl in the corner of the room the girl with sweat collecting on her forehead behind her glasses she is trembling but no one notices after all who notices one girl in a crowded room