The Writers Voice
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It was 7:00 in the morning and you just woke up.
The bright sun glazed through the window,
And the breeze willingly wrapped around you
As it was hiding you from the outside world.
You arise, letting one leg fall out of the bed,
Then the next.
Your arms are graceless
As they make their way above the bed sheet.
Your eyes make contact with
The woman standing at the door.
The urge to ask for a ride to school fades away.
You get on your bike
And head towards the one place you never thought youíd be.
The breath of the wind carries along your face.
Your old two-wheeler,
Unsteady and unsure,
Makes its way to the bike rack.
You can hear the laughs of the kids around you.
Your humble body
Walks as the laughter in the kidsí voices
Pick up each step you lay down.
You can see the kids thrash your bike as you continue.
Your anguish is glued to you
As the teasing never stops.
Your bike is ruined.
The warm tears drift along your face
As your steps become quicker and more uncertain.
The taunts seep into your mind as your eyes swell up.
The path to the bathroom becomes longer.
There you are
On the bathroom floor.
Your eyes are flushed and damp.
Your arms are tired from wiping the tears.
You know you must go on.
Your confidence stiffens as you walk down the hall;
Then collapses when you enter the classroom.
You know the kids are ready to pounce on their prey.
You know youíve been told never to let them get to you,
But those words fade away
As someone projects their fist into your arm.
You obliterate the cruel words behind you
And try to walk forward.
Your fists compress
As the smile on your face unlocks.
Your body turns,
Your arm unleashes.
The sudden swing of your arm strikes the kid.
He falls to the ground.
You canít help but burst into tears.
The terrified expressions
Of the kids frightens you.
The teacherís face is casual
As he continues on reading his book.
The kids are terrified as they look
Into their oblivious teachersí face.
Your heart stops.
Your mind freezes.
You wake up to yet another day.
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