My heart is an inflating latex balloon,
It puffs up,
And sprouts an appetite for butterflies.
Bearing youthful caterpillars with wings,
Fluttering chaotically in its belly,
It itches to set them unleashed.
“When will it pop?” I ask myself frantically.
Quivering butterflies dressed in lifeless wings,
Gory trickles of blood,
The ***** from my mouth.
I’m feeling sickly queasy,
Help me God,
I’m risen to my feet,
Still in front of this **** computer display,
Uttering my prayers and hoping the letter I appoint is correct,
Or else all my gladness would dwindle.
I’m pondering over each letter vigilantly,
A, B, C, and D,
Oh my gosh they all look like carbon copies!
Conscious that minutes are running out,
Moments away from my heart exploding,
An eruption of perished butterflies.
I want to weep like a toddler departing from the toy store,
But the Earth will proceed to move,
And my expression of fear will go unnoticed.
So I select the letter my gut draws me to.
The second I graze my thumb over the letter,
I sense a crowd of pity and regret.
I feel a dozen people circling around my screen with bold characters spelling “loser”,
They’ve all come to watch me,
Just to see me topple off of a steep cliff.
I can’t bear watching mom and dad miserably console me,
Or knowing that three bitter hours of studying,
Five hundred mock questions,
And a million prayers,
Will sink to the foot of the sea,
And I’ll be left with a floating glass bottle,
Containing a letter,
With the word “failure”.
But the screen alters to a cluster of different words,
Like a poetry stanza.
I’m skimming through a heap of vain until I see,
My learner’s licence test.
I trusted my gut,