Preguntas de mí , para mí

Keeping a steady hand shouldn't be hard.

A smooth line creating each letter, each word.

But it's hard,

When the person next to you could be watching.

Observing your every move.

Maybe they're wandering if you're just cold

What if they ask you what's wrong?

But the bell rings and it's time to go.

Hands covered by the long sleeves of your sweater

you walk down the stairs, outside, and head towards your bus.

Headphones in ears. Music to drown out other sounds.

Hands still shaking and you wish that the person sitting next to you in your last class had asked if you were ok.

Maybe then you could've mustered up the courage to say,

No, I'm not okay.

Maybe you could've explained your thoughts with words you only ever say in your head.

But you didn't and I'm afraid that you never will.

How will you keep on going like this?

With your frail, feather-light strength.

Will you be able to be whole again?

I wish I could save you but I don't know how.