The Room is Too Loud
By Samantha Lynch
It smells like old ladies in here,
Lilac, lavender, moth balls
Old perfume that would only be worn on special occasions
That has not been actively worn since 1968.
Sorry
Please
Excuse me
Stop
Good morning
Talking
Thank you
Please
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This seat is cold at least…
And the room isn’t suffocating like usual…
But the curve of my foot… the arch between my heel and my toes is itching,
My boots are too restraining.
Please stop using your phone,
We can all hear it.
Ringing, beeping, singing.
Please turn it off.
Please stop talking while the teacher is.
You’re being incredibly rude.
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My leg is itching.
How long has it been now?
The side of my calf, under my blue pants.
I’ve thought about it. Now it will only get worse.
Toes curling in my boots trying to relieve the itch still aching in my foot.
The rustling of his pants,
The chafing of her thighs as she walks by my desk.
The coins bouncing against each other in his pocket.
The heavy breathing behind me, down my neck
Like a serpent coiling slowly around my windpipe.
I need to leave.
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The tapping of fingers against endless keyboards.
My hair’s too heavy.
The weight of it hot and suffocating,
Like a ball and chain bringing me down to the bottom of the ocean.
I run my finger along the waterline of my eye,
I cringe.
My eyelashes are all intertwined, stuck.
My hands shake slightly.
Though it’s a baggy sweatshirt, it is still too tight.
The sleeves too long but also not long enough.
The seat is cold but now my thigh is itchy against it.
I can’t bite my nails anymore,
They’re too short.
The skin is ragged, some spool blood.
My hands shake more,
My fingers are too big and not far enough apart.
I’m aware of my skin,
It has turned claustrophobic
My skin has become clammy but is also dry
I can feel every blemish on my face as if they are Olympus Mons.
I am aware of the one strand of hair on under my chin that is just there.
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I’m drowning
I’m being compressed
The jingle of her keys as she places her bag on the ground then takes a seat in the no longer vacant desk.
The clicking of a pen
My ears are filled with cotton yet clearer than ever.
My mind feels soiled,
My mind is aching.
My mind is so aware of every sense,
Overwhelmed by the mere presence of being present.
Please
Please
Please
Just stop talking for a moment.
Let me breathe for a moment.
help, please…
