Caution: Contents Under Pressure

I cover my ears with my hands and I yell, loud enough so that I can't hear them any more. My teacher took away my headphones earlier today because I wasn't "paying attention." I guarantee you she doesn't know the meaning of that phrase. Not the way I do. 

I know that there are 154 styrofoam tiles that cover the ceiling in our classroom. I know that every day at 10:53, the teacher will sit at her desk and have to raise the chair. I know that my classmates whisper things about me when they think the volume is turned up on my iPod. I know why my chair is the only one in it's row.

I know that hitting things actually makes you feel better.  There are times when I'm in class and I imagine my knuckles crashing into cold metal. It's definite. The results are predictable. The sound is directly proportionate to the force with which I strike. I also know that things are more important than people. Because when I hit things, I get in trouble, but when people hurt me with their words, nothing happens. I guess we have something in common, my teacher and I. We both wish the other one would pay better attention. 

I have more bad days than good ones. I'm not religious, but I believe in Heaven and Hell. Heaven is a quiet room with a closed door and lots of lamps. Hell exists in an alternate dimension and it's located somewhere between my left ear and my right one. 

I know most people are scared of me. I don't blink often enough or look away. No matter how hard I try, I'm always swimming upstream in a crowd. Maybe it's because I want as far away from them as possible. Their voices are too loud. They don't have a plan. They are a funnel of explosives and I am a spark. We all share the blame. When people are born, they should come with a warning label. Caution: Contents Under Pressure. Since they don't, society just brands a few of us as crazy. The problem is, the majority doesn't understand just how flammable they are until it's too late.