"I see you're smirking still." One eyebrow raised,
an accusation of my happiness.
She sees through me: an addict to the praise
and thanks and jabs and jokes at my expense.
My friends are certain I derive almost
a ****** satisfaction from all this.
It's true my heartbeat does betray the ghost
of some attraction straining to exist.
And just what is it that I want to do?
To be with him, my teacher, scandal? Or
just get attention? Or do I love school
enough that it has really bubbled over?

Or maybe when it comes to it, I am
still crawling from my father's clawing hands.