My stomach is hurting
as the deafening silence consumes me.
I’ve been told it’ll soon be over,
a new day dawning,
but as I close my eyes,
I don’t see how I’ll make it.
My stomach is hurting
from the laughter last night.
Blue marks cover my skin,
from the pool cue,
the creativity-draped boy poked me with
to distract me from winning the game.
But I did.
I will.
I am.
Little Pocket Journal 