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cyril-blythePoems
When I arch my back so my face hovers close Above the college ruled paper, I narrow my shoulders until the green fleece of my jacket kisses at my red ears. I move my body weight to my left side, shifting and wrapping my right foot around the cold metal desk leg, the hiss of the fluorescent lights above licking a steady whisper. I hear pens scratching permanent ink onto dry paper and noses dripping snot onto cheap Kleenex squares, a melodic metronome racing against the preset clock in my mind I’ve ignored over the past four years. Will it be worth it? Thomas sits on my red ears and whispers, reminding that I have but one more semester. Am I Dotstoyevsky? Can I claim to be Milton? Am I worth?
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Nov 25, 2012
Nov 25, 2012 at 10:29 PM UTC
HC 3334; Tuition
When I arch my back so my face hovers close Above the college ruled paper, I narrow my shoulders until the green fleece of my jacket kisses at my red ears. I move my body weight to my left side, shifting and wrapping my right foot around the cold metal desk leg, the hiss of the fluorescent lights above licking a steady whisper. I hear pens scratching permanent ink onto dry paper and noses dripping snot onto cheap Kleenex squares, a melodic metronome racing against the preset clock in my mind I’ve ignored over the past four years. Will it be worth it? Thomas sits on my red ears and whispers, reminding that I have but one more semester. Am I Dotstoyevsky? Can I claim to be Milton? Am I worth?
cyril-blythe
Written by
cyril-blythe
American
Nov 25, 2012
Nov 25, 2012 at 10:29 PM UTC
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