My Character

Thinking now about how they would discuss my character in a college-level english class, Watching me through that invisible ceiling of all those classics, from Hawthorne to Fitzgerald to Bronte,
Passing from bedroom 
To kitchen 
To fill up 
My blue water bottle. They’d say: 
“Isn’t that interesting the way he texts his girlfriend he’s reading over 
the text she just sent him, when in fact, he is filling up his blue water bottle? 
Isn’t it interesting the way he tells people he does one thing, when actually, 
he does another? 

What can we make of his 
Character 
Based on these contradicting actions? 

What are we to make of his role 
In the story?” 

My whole life I’ve been waiting 
For that star pupil, the kind 
Who sits in the back, reticent 
To use their voice among others, 
Like a shark frightened of other 
Sharks, but still needs to feed else their professor will 
Give them low marks for participating, so just once they 
Raise their hand to my 
Defense, because they’ve been studying the pages 
And passages, contradictions and unspoken 
Intentions 
This whole time, and when the professor calls on them they say: 

“Yes, but 
Notice the way he also
Cares deeply, and even though he does the opposite
Of what he says he is doing, it’s not because He
doesn’t wish he could—it’s because he doesn’t
Know how to.”