I sit here,
still and quiet,
fighting the need to pee.

Crude? Perhaps.

For now,
manners aren't my strong point.

There is a real pain in my chest,
slightly to the left.
And my ear is hair-pullingly itchy.

I wonder if there are ants in there.

This isn't poetry,
this vague, rambling flow of
words. Black on white.

But I needed to write,
so I caress keys with my fingers
and ponder normality,
and teenage
conformity.

We are all so similar.