blank page (a letter to my class)

to my classmates, my professor, my peers, my elders,

i write to you now, staring at a
blank page of porcelain:
my thoughts, pale like the
marvelous moon reflecting
from the soul in my eyes.

can you see it? the blue? the emptiness
inside these blank thoughts
behind these full frames
of dark?

i sit here, completely attune to
this woeful world, here
in this “silent” study-room

these people breathe like lions
roar. they chew on pencils
like prey, engraving
their murderous marks with their
pearly whites, stained with the remnants of
this morning’s coffee, this afternoon’s
tea. chomping. chomping. chomping.
they crumble on paper
piercing theirs nails into the
grooves of it’s flesh, twisting
their terrible fingers
crinkle. crunch. crack.

i stare at these “silent”
studiers, screaming SHUT-UP
in my head,
which, by the way, is engulfed
in furious flames of rage
and riot

and i am staring, still, at a
blank page

that girl in the corner, wearing
that faded gray hoodie, hiding
behind thick frames, is in texting galore
gallantly giggling in girly
high-pitched shrills, sending shivers
through my spine.
and not those cutsie-wootsie shivers,
it’s those ones that creep and crawl under your skin,
like devils of the damned
that make you scream in your sleep
into your puffy pillow.
and class, you can’t see it,
but my neck is bulging,
my eyes are narrowing

and that boy next to me, consumed
in british literature
is fondling his book, playing with
the pages. crinkling all the notebook paper,
bending back the covers
ruining the spine, folding the corners
into dog ears,
and my mind is playing
on repeat, me bending his back,
ruining his spine, folding
back his fingers. let’s see how
he likes it, because as we all know,
every book has feelings
every book has memories
every book has a soul

and i’m staring at a blank page

things that should have said,
hey class, music is my soul
and my soul is what i like to speak
and speaking is not my specialty so i sing
and singing i do with words on pages
and pages i paint with poetry
and poetry i read and write and love

but hate i do those who hate beautifully
structured sentences, seamed together
with brilliant design
unlike this blank page that has
consumed the blue behind these
crystals i stare through

so class i ask again, do
you see it? the blue? the emptiness
inside these blank thoughts
behind these full frames
of dark?