I stare down at my unopened schoolbag
How is it already Sunday?

School stress getting on my nerves
Parental pressure only
Delaying
Possible progress.

I reach for the zipper,
Which is snagged
Tempting excuse but not
Much better than my usual
“too complicated”
Both are the truth
But neither worth saying in the
adult world
Where teachers and parents replace
The monsters from my
Childhood nightmares.

I have pulled something up onto my lap, unaware,
From my school bag which now lays crumpled, empty on the wooden floor.
A book with symbols and run-on sentences
Which I should understand,
Translate,
Answer,
But instead bring on sudden waves of hopelesness
Grief


Desperation to understand,

My eyes, blurry and unfocussed.
Maybe if this writing wasn’t so crowded
But I’m aware of this being another excuse
For my monsters in the adult world.