Just like a preserved flower I’ve lasted longer,
But my petals are aged and due to break,
I feel the anxiety and play possible scenarios in my head,
Create the counter questions so that I already have an answer,
So there are no surprises,
But when I’m asked what I’m not prepared for, I panic in my mind, I repeatedly say I don’t know, But I won’t let myself mutter such words,
So I make up what I can and beat myself up about it later.
Why did I say that?
Did I sound stupid?
Can they see through me?
The walk from one class to another is the build up of my emotions, Excited, scared, anxious,
As I sit down I’m not so brave as I await being called on,
I prepare myself,
I get ready,
You cannot make me feel stupid, But you can,
You cannot make me feel unsure, But you can,
You cannot make me feel anxious, But you do,
The silence around my is overwhelming, however, my thoughts are unrestrained
and continuous,
Where I coat myself in concrete in case of overwhelming criticism,
Sometimes I allow a sprout of a thought to seep through the cracks and I hold my breath, Despite the feedback,
I still feel regret and I sit in my anguish,
In my mind these thoughts don’t belong out of the concrete,
My thoughts have no beauty, no meaning, no value,
Just like a preserved flower I’ve been made fragile even further,
My petals are aged and fractured,
Crumbling and put in front of me are what’s left and the wind doesn't carry them away, And the wind doesn’t carry me away.