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Clare Martin Clare Martin
Recommendations: 12

In the Classroom

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soul mates

I stare at the window, eyes heavy,
Mind full, fingers drumming the table.
What a beautiful sight it is out there,
The rain beating against the gravel,
Filling the wounds in the concrete,
Bringing the trees and flowers to life.
And how warm it is in here, this room,
With twenty other teenagers around me.
What a place this is. And for me to be here.
What do the other kids go home to, I wonder.

I think of home now, or what home used to be.
I think of how close it was to the place I am now,
A thirty second walk, in fact, seen from the window.
So close, yet so different, as though miles apart,
Like stepping out of a dungeon and into the light,
But a window in that dungeon, that forsaken cell
That you're confined to, shows you where you could be,
And I know I could be there, but only so often.
Stepping outside of "home" was to be cherished
And I cherished it as often as I could by dreaming.

Now I don't know what to call home, this room or
My aunt's house, where I will stay until a home is found.
I sleep in a bed now, rather than a couch. I wake up early
And savour the sunlight, but how lonely do I feel now!
I forget I'm solitary and pray, and pray again, to escape.
And here I am now, staring at the rain attack the asphalt,
And I remember those times, only two and a half months ago,
Where I never used to wish for better, but cherished
The freedom I had. And I shake myself out of my trance
And start taking notes. It's the 20th of February again.

I'm in the best place I could be.

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