There I stand
In front of the class
Begging myself
To not burst out in tears
Stuttering and muttering
Averting my gaze
Making sure no eye-contact is made
Begging myself
To get over myself
The whispers drive me crazy
What could they be talking about
It's just an introduction
Yet it feels like I'm walking toward my deathbed
It feels like I'm walking on glass
It feels like my last breath is near
Then finnaly
It's over
Yet this feeling is not
As I will have to carry this weight with me
Until I am buried in my grave
YOU ARE READING
Quills and Ink
PoetryA collectioon of self-written poems I wish to share with everyone.
