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I watch my hand outstretch and place
itself on the door handle.

It turns the handle of its own accord and movement
travels down my arm, hits my shoulder,
runs down my spine and floods my legs.

I have crossed the line; the door shuts.

The room silences me, and movement isn’t
as easy as I struggle between the rows of
desks arranged like an army of the most
robust and imposing of wooden ants.

The room is your history. I can say nothing.

She sits at the front, incessantly commenting
without raising her hand, wearing her elaborate sentences
round her neck like a garish boa.
As verbose and garrulous as a villanelle.

I sink into my chair and disappear.

© Hannah Courtney 2013

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Today’s featured poem is by Hannah Courtney. This is a  piece which speaks of the stifling loneliness of being an outsider, and set in an environment we have all experienced – school. A piece which evokes memory of a situation close to home for several people, this immediately grabbed us with it’s bold, assertive use of imagery and phrasing, which juxtaposes itself perfectly with the awkward, introspective nature of the subject matter. A new writer we are pleased to publish, and add her poetic voice to our archives.

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