The Emotional Bottle

I wake up. They're mowing the grass. The kettle is boiling, my brother munching On his cereal and slurping his milk and banging his spoon on the side of the bowl. The empty bottle placed under the tap. Running late. I've misplaced my phone The cars hurtle past then squeak when they brake and it's cold and this uniform. It's scratchy and tight but I must hurry or I'll be late. It's starting to fill Now the canteen is shut. Great People are talking too loud and they brush past me and I feel the urge to run but I stay. It's gone past halfway I don't understand the work I can't process a thing yet I'm told to do better on my own and the seagulls won't fucking shut up. It's nearing the top I get home and nobody cuts me any slack and it's so unfair. Now it's full, no space for air I finally retreat to my room and I'm finally in peace but now my charger is being slow. The bottle begins to overflow.