She drifts the halls silently,

 

Teachers scrutinize her through half-glasses,

And discuss what to do.

 

She sits in a bean bag chair,

Watching the teachers fret,

Seeing other students inhabiting their own anxieties.

 

She knows that words released into the world,

Are already dead in the heart,

That there is contempt in the act of speaking,

So she remains silent.

 

With her Mona Lisa smile,

She inhabits the pure potential,

Of the visions she can see,

And the soundtrack she can hear,

Vivid with infinite possibilities.

​

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