A teacher cannot teach me how to get rid of stress for it has lived with me in my mansion of rooms years before they had ever thought of knocking.

I don't know how to study,

Or how to cry for myself

and it would just be better,

If I had any of these things to help

Me survive the next hour,

or express my emotions,

But it's so much harder than the

anxiety-helping worksheets suggested,

I can't focus,

And when I look down my stairs,

The only thing that I see is me falling through the air,

So I can't breath

and I'm looking in the mirror

Hoping there's something thats even remotely familiar,

Because I'm alone,

And I would except any hand that offered me comfort,

Because even if it's bad,

it's the only thing that had heard me,

When I had screamed for help,

So many times.