i never stopped waiting for the bell.
i thought i could drop the routine of waking up before sunrise
when turning 18 felt soul-changing
so i never stopped being afraid of the dark

it grew up into a fear of the unknown.
i never stopped waiting for the bell.
i leave a life behind me for the first time when I am 5.
10. 11. 13.

i wish i could remember what it felt like to be 15.
if i could scour my girlhood again i would leave a note where i left it, where
i never stopped waiting for the bell
i fell asleep with my head on a desk and woke up fully grown

with the life of a man and the face of a girl
whose sweaty hand I take, who makes me drag her through every hallway
with ringing protests, "You're ruining my life! I don't want to be here!"
i never stopped waiting for the bell.

she rushes, she doesn't know how to wait, how to listen.
every time she's told she knows nothing, a conscience too brittle for violence
shoves a fist behind her back. paper shreds litter her bedroom floor
and each slash of red ink is her only proof.

I never stopped waiting for the bell.