Improve your sketching,
practice your stitching,
my head I'll be itching.
A smile I'll be faking,
my heart I'm replacing,
with ribbons and lace,
as I'm stuck in this space,
teacher's hands on her waist,
it's her time I waste,
because I have no place,
now she wears a sad face.
And at this bus stop, I wait,
for bus forty-eight,
but it's running late,
I've started to shake,
I struggle to breathe,
because time is ticking.
I will lose this race,
if I do not face,
the hurt and the pain,
the bed that I made,
it started to rain.