In sixth grade, I went early to school, sitting in the classroom during recess voluntarily working through geometry, in tears.
For the first time: frustration. I don't get it. I don't understand how it works. Not acceptable.
And with disuse, the vocabulary falls away like skin cells and the songs are forgotten.
What is "smart"?
Sometimes I think smart is simply giving yourself enough time to revise. And all of this seems like such a worldly concern, something tied up in my pride.
Inside the crunched up, scrunched up shoulder girl there is a deep breath that releases her from trying so hard to...
She can't even say it. The word for forgetting words.
Trying so hard to be right.
So, I'm praying for grace because an awkward girl needs it.