out the window
I used to look out the window
from my English class
and see the outside world
and think of all the ways I could leave school
until one day I just didn’t show up
because I wasn’t well enough to go to school
and see the outside world
except when I stood on the chair on my tiptoes
and my eyes peered over my window
waiting for someone to walk by
and maybe wave
and then I went back but
it was only down the corridor
and it was only fractions and French but
it was better than nothing
and all the teachers said it looked promising
“they have to let you go back to school” they said
so I sat and I watched and I waited
while everyone else left
and came back
telling their stories and talking about their friends
and their long journey there
mine was only down the corridor
but in December I walked back, and it couldn’t have been any longer
after I had stared at the ceiling for what seemed like hours
with the marks from the table corners that he dug into my palms
and every time I walked past that door, I remembered that room he locked me in
(that had four chairs but barely sat 3 people)
and how the hands of the clock wall wouldn’t move
fast
enough
and how I couldn’t scrub my skin hard enough in the shower while they watched and laughed
and then it didn’t look as promising anymore
because how could I go back to school now that I was unwell
again
it had only been 6 months
but at 14 I learnt more there than I ever will in a classroom
and I still look out from the window sometimes
to see the outside world from my English class
but now my feet stand firmly on the floor
a part of me is locked inside that room forever
but now I can raise my hand whenever I want to leave.