Sticky sweetness bound together
By oats in the morning drizzle
Grey days poured away with the milk
As the sugar clumps in my mouth.
Waking up before daybreak
To only the light from the water tower,
I pull my scratchy tights on,
Stumble downstairs to my breakfast.
I am so tired and eat so slowly
That the porridge hardens and cools,
Feeling heavy in my stomach.
Dawn streaks across the sky while I rush,
Late again, to my classes.
I cannot say I miss those primary school days.
I can feel the wool sleeves of my uniform creep up
The itchy strands rubbing against my wrists
While my blouse stretches taut across the ligaments of my throat.
I struggle to refocus my blurred gaze
But the speaker melds into the stage behind him
The microphone covering his face.
My hands are empty and ungainly
Legs creaking on the grains of the wooden pew.
So indistinct that they call me ghost
Like I’m not around to hear them
Appearing and disappearing
Even I can’t tell if I’m there or not.