"you need to start coming to class on time,"

she says. what she means is,

"start coming to class. pretend you care."

just like every teacher says to me.

well, maybe i would, if…

i'd do the work if…

your class didn't trigger me so much.

i wasn't busy trying to live.

if i didn't care so damn much.

because i really do care,

too much.

i'm sorry i'm a fuck up.

i just can't force myself

to be

something i'm not.



the ask.

i stand there, always.

i want to cry, i want to scream,

"well, i'm sorry i'm too fucking busy

trying not to kill myself

to do a silly worksheet."

i yearn to tell the truth;

lying isn't natural to me.

instead, i stand there,

wanting to cry.

wanting to share everything.

"i'm sorry, i just

didn't do it."