#also i made some parts longer on purpose congrats to whoever gets the meaning behind it

[theshalesky]

i still think about the day i read that poem out loud to the class. the teacher said choose a poem from this book and read it and put in emotion and bring it to life. i chose a poem the most beautiful of all and waited impatiently for my turn. expecting to be praised as always. when i stood in front of the class i was nervous, but i felt good. the poem was long and i kept reading the ball rang and i kept reading. no one said anything, so i didn't stop. when i finished, i wasn't aware of any mistake. it was only when my teacher thanked me that this feeling started to cave in: thank you, you chose a lovely poem. i left the classroom and this feeling kept growing. i did something wrong, of course. replaying the situation in my head i understood too late. they didn't want me to read for that long or i didn't read it well enough. probably one because of the other. and that's the worst part: not that i wasn't good for once. but that i didn't get it. that i kept going, thinking they liked me unaware of the obvious cues. no, that's not the worst part. it was a good poem, they liked the poem in itself. they just didn't like the way i read it - i ruined a beautiful thing. simply by touching it simply by giving all that i was because the truth is: not that i wasn't good enough it's that i'm something that will never be liked. i still think about the day i read that poem out loud to the class.