nothing

on tuesday morning
she watched the sky come alive from a third floor
washroom window,

clouds red like the leaves on that tree she
stares at instead of listening to her
teacher during fourth period

“literature is about finding yourself”

she has her head in the clouds,
this one –
does not like to remember what it is to be
grounded

when there’s a bigger world
out there past the atmosphere
past all those layers of gases
that try to keep her in like walls

the walls of her english class,
plastered with quotes that make her want to
write down something profound in the margins
of her notes,
make her want to forget for a moment
how tired she is of her
own superficiality

something has been crawling beneath
her skin for the past weeks
more unsaid words maybe
or reality

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a/n: i've never felt so up and down