I couldn't write poetry if my life depended on it.

*Hallways On Monday Mornings*

Groups of friends all huttled together

Sharing stories of what happened over the weekend

With a textbook in one hand

I shove my fleece pocket

Walking down the hallway

The scent of coffee and perfume fil the air

With the taste of gum in my mouth

And chills from the cold

I walk to first period

Where it's nothing but quiet