The tightly held, crumpled paper in hand. Ready to confront the noble critics.

Making my way to the doorstep, I plan. Twisting the doorknob, the fear that mimics.

Running to the trash bin, I toss away. Paper gone, out of sight, then I could hear.

Footsteps coming down stairs, to my dismay. I grab a seat, them closing in near.

Who I knew as my mother and father. Their lifeless expressions could say a lot. 

Speaking secretly to one another. The numerous talks about school I fought.

Sixty on my trashed test - one of the flaws. Pressure felt to be better than I was.