School

In the sharpest of times,

with racous giggles

caused by bad jokes

and cruel mocking

disguised as playfulness,

I never felt more centered.

Feet pressed against

the rough carpet,

backs aching

from textbooks

and plastic chairs,

small glances

between those who

knew one another best.

Books we won't read

and pencils

we never wish to touch

spread out

across the wooden desks

before us.

Hands tapping deaftly,

fingertips running

through hair,

shoelaces tying,

makeup checked in the

black mirror of a screen.

I sit,

surrounded by the familiarities

of childhood

and routine,

of old friends

and pencil shavings.

Completely encompassed

by the everyday normalcy

of this life that we live.

I smile at appropriate times,

mock at others,

scold ocassionally

until it is time

to move locations

for the exact same thing.

There is always

someone to walk with

in this never-ending cycle.

I wave to people

in the dense crowds,

pushed up against lockers

and body odor.

This is what I know.

This is who I am.

And I smile,

and wave

and mock

and walk

and sigh

and scold

and write

and stretch

until there is nothing

else but these.

And in the midst of

this life,

I realize that I have

never felt more alone.