When and I wonder.
Hmm.
A blade of grass blown through in the hand,
Baking paper,
Vibrating damply on the comb.
When will I do something,
To add earth to the tone?
Some debate in a classroom,
An idle threat in the corridor.
A dispute in the canteen,
The gurgle of despair.
When will my voice break?
And how does a room break?
How to make a room lean too far,
Reach too far,
Gravitate too far from its
Prescribed dimensions.
How to pound amidst the crumbled mortar,
And the shocked advances
Of dust blown chrysalises.
Pained glances,
A throat serrated.
When will my voice break?
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