Streaming

Tears slowly stream down my face.
Though I fail to move, or whimper.

I sit, hollow, yet also so full.

I don't have the motivation to even brush my teeth.
And it's ever worsening.

Delirious.

Thinking about my scholarly career.
Almost voluntarily my stomach drops.

Most people don't see the problem.
I get that.

They simply aren't aware of my struggle.

My grades remain to be what some might call "fantastic".
But that's not my point.

I don't feel like I'm getting the opportunity to learn.
Just that thought makes my throat tighten.

The thing I love more than anything else in the world.
Just that statement gives my lip a stiff quiver.

I sit aghast, mouth open, eyes slowly rolling beyond my control.
And ask myself these questions.

What has become of me?
Why can't I partake in my simple pleasures?
Am I not good enough for this?

How come I can't.