I Wish I Was Not Here

Been so long since my last poem, defiantly think my style has changed since being at university. A poem I wrote in a lecture, being an active learner, lectures are my kryptonite.

She speaks to me.

No.

At me.

The sounds are muted, words comprehensible but not comprehended.

She tries to elicit my attention.

Every now and again a finger taps on the whiteboard.

Tap!

Tap!

I look up but no.

I'm still not grabbed.

Still not interested.

Tap!

I can see some eyes lingering, but are they awake?

Blinking rapidly.

Trying to wipe the sleep away?

Perhaps?

Tap!

White board.

White walls.

Blend into one.

Nothing bright or colourful to pass the time with, no art on the walls.

It makes me realise how bland this "presentation room" is.

Oh look.

We are still talking about frames.

Excellent.

 The timing of this presentation reminds me of a lava lamp.

The goo inside not gripping to anything.

Just floating...

I can relate.

TAP!

This time a  pen meets the board.

She has her chance.

To draw me in.

To make my ears open wide, Like how a net can catch a butterlfy.

She utters

".... Frames."

Oh.

Oh what a shame.

She had me and yet she lost me.

In the span of a mere breath.

Even the faded dying leftovers from the marker pen she uses haunts me.

What even was her name?

Mava?

Mharli?

Or maybe Mahari?

I suppose it Doesn't really matter right now. 

What does matter to me.

Right now I mean?

Probably the choice of food that will greet me once this confrence is over.

Mmm something with cheese.

Hot cheese.

Something to spark my senses to persuade me to listen.

"Frame rate of a Tv is 25."

Just on the cusp of being interesting.

But still, I'm more interested with the block letters poised on my phone screen.

Enlarging with each click, each flick of a fingertip.

"I" a lot of use out of such a small word.

"I use this..."

"I worked on..."

"I think that..."

At this point it's like I'm trying to catch all of these Facts in my two hands.

Most of them I drop to the floor already knowing there familiar touch.

Some I try to keep but there wording forces me to loosely hold them.

And just like that I've forgot them.

Not comprehended.

  ....

I'm tired.

Does it make me ignorant.

To not listen.

As an expert in her field, maybe I should try harder to understand her point.

It's Dry.

In my opinion it's dry.

Defiantly set in her ways, One way, to me the less creative way.

The official way.

The wiki way.

The wrong way.

No wonder I look away.

White walls. White board. White chairs. Back of heads. Bowed backs. Short notes. Quick sketch. Screaming pipe. Fluorescent light. More white.

TAP!

half an hour in I see.

TAP!

Oh...

TAP!

Now it's a red pen.

TAP.

I wish I was not here.

Author's Note

Wrote this raw and in the moment, lectures to me speak at me not to me. I wrote this spontaneously and know that there are some structural issues. But I want to keep it that way, reminds me more of the jumbled musings I had in my head at the very moment.

Reviews

[prisley machiya]

impressive i like the style of the narrator

[karmic]

Following your thoughts and picturing you getting distracted by the thought of not wanting to be distracted is pretty humorous.

"The timing of this presentation reminds me of a lava lamp. The goo inside not gripping to anything. Just floating..." Love this bit. This crude presentation mused a well crafted line.

Other than a few grammatical hiccups; I'd agree with you. I wouldn't change one word of your spontaneous soliloquy.