Between The Margins

Sitting in a small classroom that’s shaped in a square 

With two windows with bars on the outside 

And desks that are cold to the touch 

I hear the clock counting down the time in a slow melancholy way 

As the teacher in the front of the room writes down the notes with a thick black marker 

The smell of the marker floods the room with every stroke she takes 

When she finishes the final stroke 

She turns around and poses a question to the class

The words go out into the silence of the room 

My heart skips a beat as she turns towards me 

As the name Gabriella leaves her mouth 

It feels like something as grasped my throat preventing me to speak 

Finally I can get out the answer in a shaky breathe 

This feeling stays 

I pick up my pencil and start to write in the margins 

Poetry flows from the lead in my pencil onto the paper

Detailing the feelings I just felt

And how the anxiety ran through my body 

By the final word that feeling left my body 

Like I transferred it from my body onto the page in front of me 

Between the margins