The feel
Of my hands
Turning the rough
Pages of a worn
Out book.

Staring endlessly at
Little black letters.

Who could have known
That it would make a
Girl so ecstatic?

…

How I dream
To embed
Myself
Into the
Mythical worlds
Built from words.

How truly amazing
It is for
Someone

To create
Such
Magic
With a few verses.

Alphabets morph
Into words
Into sentences
Into Imagination
And one day

...Into reality.

She comes to class and goes
“There’s bees in my Head”
Then pulls out
Another mug
Of coffee
Which happens
To be the cause

Another comes
Face on the verge of tears
“He did it again!”
We all know who
“He” is
Then proceeds to
Accept hugs
While giving
An in depth narration

Another comes in
“I’m, just, dying”
She proceeds to get
More hugs
While another friend
Calls her “hot”
And she insists she’s not

The fourth comes in
She’s been sacrificing
Her free time
To attend this class
And her sad tired smile
Says it all
She gets hugs too

And here I am
In the middle
Suffocated
...
Am I emotionally immature?
Am I too much of a cynic?
Is it me, or is it them?
Am I just different?
Or too self conscious?
...
Why do they have so many problems?
...
Then class starts
And I turn to our model,
A plastic skeleton dubbed
-Bony Bonez

And lose myself
In the charcoal