9 am

Nine AM is punishment enough.

I looked up today in second hour,

To see you,

You staring intently back at me.

And then came the accompanying tightness in my chest, like I can’t breath.

I don’t need this anymore, you know.

I’ve already said my goodbyes, and made my peace.

Nine AM is punishment enough,

Without a ration of equations I don’t understand,

And you, always, looking back at me.

The girl in front beams like a hyena,

The radiation of her ego burning into my self-esteem.

Can’t I just call it quits? Can’t I rip math off my shaking body,

Like a Band-Aid sticking to a bright red scrape or sore

I just want to write books or teach English, not find slopes or limits,

But math is force-feeding with a cold spoonful of food I can’t swallow.

I wish I had told my guidance counselor I didn’t care about credits,

When it called for all of this precise, calculated pain.

I should have told the girl sitting up front to shut her damn mouth,

But I took the paper she gave out, folded it to a crisp,

And walked back to my seat, head high in the air.