The monster utters the very words I feared, "Your turn to speak."
I looked around for help, feeling ever so weak.
I stood up at desk and to the front I walked,
And in my mind I knew I would surely be mocked.
I shuffled my papers and fixed up my hair,
I'm dying up here, yet they don't seem to care.
I open my mouth, but no words come out,
All I want to do is run away and pout.
I shiver, and stumble, and stutter, and sweat,
All the while thinking, "Is this over yet?"
I wish I could hide, I wish I could cry.
I just can't talk, but they don't understand why.
I want to get up, and try to explain,
My anxiety, and how it causes me pain.
But my mind tells me that they don't care,
I'm not meant to be happy, life just isn't fair.