The words on my tongue
fester behind a closed portal.
I swallow them, afraid
what they will reveal
to the gazes that burn
into my back.
As I walk,
smoking glares measure
and weigh every move.
They wait, like lions
stalking behind
Savannah grass.
When I feel their judgments’
weight on my shoulders,
I know
that a wrong move means death.
Shame.
One more moment
that scorches my mind's eye
when I look back.
One more for my collection.
When I swallow my words,
I trap myself in my own throat.
With lowered eyes, I continue
down the school hall
in silence.
