School

They expect me to open up like a book 📖 to look at me. They expect me to not have anxiety filled days of this prison piled and this days are usually mild. Nightmares in this prisons happen in day even in the smallest ways. New fears bloom in different ways, an insult can happen by gossip or by disarray. I am clay and a teacher is my sculptor and they play, I am not my own sculptor. Prison,school all the same nothing ever changes. Im expected to be blank canvas were my teachers are my painters. "you are something " they say to me even tho there words are liars and actions are to I wish it was the truth.