Familiar Faces? Or a feeling of dread?
I'm sitting here
staring at a blank board.
In a room full of strangers,
feeling out of place.
Arriving a half an hour early
so I cannot be late.
The quiet drum of my music
sooths my nerves.
The familiarity of a pen
flowing across the paper.
Makes the shaking in my hand deminish.
I feel at home.
The growing voices of the strangers
halt my pen,
cut off my ideas
and bring me down to earth.
As the clock ticks on
I grow restless.
Waiting for the Prof.
I feel my stomach flip.
What if I can't do this?
What if I freeze?
I swallowing the growing lump in my throat
and shake the thoughts fro