Little Tommy Boy sits in the classroom with the biggest grin
for his latest lesson
he stares and he jots, he learns and he plots,
ding is all he hears
then that grin vanishes as quickly as it came,
he knows that after this he has to be alone
slowly, methodically he walks down the stairs to his nourishment,
nobody seems to notice the eyes as he casts them down in embarassment
he really has nobody, they're all part of their own groups,
every friend, every enemy, not one person to be with for the one unshackled time in his day,
he gathers up his things and goes to his quiet hiding place
he sits in silence and fills himself with what he can.
The silence makes it harder to keep it all inside.
Surely there has to be a better way,
than volunteer, acidic solitude