Sometimes I Write Dramatic Monologues From the Perspective of My Students So I Can Better Understand Them

This guitar pick
has more power
more multitude
than your 3 lane
mind. My headphones
drown you out—
you and your
complacent
conversation
about boyfriends
and volley ball games.
I plummet them to the
ground—
the sylph, Ariel
jumps between
converse sole and
colorsound pedal.
My guitar pick
screams of peace
and surrender within
this concrete prison—
stacked concrete walls
with secluded students
behind the gates. No
comic relief porter
here, Mr. Shakespeare,
only me—
apart from the rest.
I don't need someone
who is paid to like me—
I need my guitar.