Every moment i perch myself upon that plastic seat,
Every time the sting of feelings prick my eyes,
Every sound that occurs to my ears,
Waiting, it is not that bad...it is calming.
It is resting,
It is listening,
It is feeling,
It is revealing,
Every small detail and aspect.
I skinned my knee...my mother kisses it better but, it is relentless,
The sting of feelings and of the scar.
I wait for it to end.
I become restless as i lay by myself in my mind, the silence is luering but not sucessful,
I wait for rest to wash me over.
The class is silent, my pencil finally halts, my hands rest against the cold surface,
I wait for the bell to release me.
I wait, and... I wait.
It is a virtue.