I sit at that blue desk,
On those burgundy chairs,
Plastic digging into my spine and ribs,
It's metal hands squeezing the air out of my lungs,
Well that's what it is like.
I sit at that wooden desk,
On those wooden chairs,
My paper upside down,
I am unable to breathe,
Well that's what it felt like.
I turn it over with a turn of a wrist,
It seems to flash red for a minute,
I pull back my sleeve,
It is gone.
Well that's what it felt like.
Words span out infront of me,
Pooling on the table,
They look glossy almost,
Almost like blood.
Well that's what it looked like.
My eyes feel hot,
My cheeks flush red,
I clench my fists and begin to sweat,
I couldn't move
Well that's what it felt like.
I close my eyes,
Images flashing out before me,
I hold my report in trembling hands,
The page dotted with fours and twos,
Well that's what it looks like.
YOU ARE READING
Academic Pressures
PoetryMy voice is loud but screaming is louder. Poetry is the loudest. It gives those without power, the power to speak out in the form of artistic expression. There is always a face under the maks so lift it up. This collection of poems depicts my experi...
