GhostSlayer

I am eight. I sit across from my mom in my pediatrician’s office on the paper-covered table. The paper is crinkled and uncomfortable. My mother’s head is cupped in her hands as the pediatrician leaves the room.

I have this teacher...

This teacher is rude and sexist 

They get mad if you don't know the answer to something that they haven't explained yet...

They never get mad at certain students, they have favorites...

I’d like a palmful of metaphors, 

Ones to use every time 

I put a pen to a page, 

To plant in my heart 

And become submerged in my hope, 

One foot in front of the other

Pursuing the search for my goal

Feet pounding against the solid ground

Heart pounding against my chest

The rain pummeling the dirt 

The wind whisking the hair out of my face

I think it's hard to be 13.

Everyone acts weird.

They used to be nice, now they are mean.

You used to trust them, now they lie to you and spread rumors about you.

They used to be funny, now they are sarcastic.

I'm scared.

I can't believe we're here

Again.

I can't believe this is reality

Again.

Four years

They say.

It's only four years.

But it's four years

Of a living hell for me.

They laugh