At school,
I sit and listen to my teachers,
And I wonder if they are happy.
Mr. S puts thoughts into my head,
I don't like it.
But I pretend,
so I do not 'fail'.
Ms. A writes words on the empty board,
I do not see them.
I only copy them down,
wishing that she would smile.
The text book I carry around,
burdens me.
I wonder how it can be so heavy,
and so meaningless at once.
A girl stares at me,
and her eyes narrow sharply.
Maybe she is angry at her mum.
Sometimes,
I look out the window.
And I imagine the wind blowing softly,
the sun warming my face.
Mrs. B claps at me,
a string of words following.
I feel like I am rotting,
never gaining,
always losing parts of myself.
It's always cold.
Other kids look just like me,
too.
When they pass,
I secretly miss them,
they could empathise.
I am shaken,
poked,
and kicked.
Then I am dead.