Parallel Universe

I hear the tick-tick-tap of a lesson being written on the board of another room,
Where someone like me sits perched in her chair,
Scrawling down names,
and dates,
and a laundry list of facts,
Glancing at the clock with a sigh.
She gets bored of her routine:
She wakes up to an incessant, grating alarm every morning when the sun first stirs.
She spends an hour getting ready to present herself to people who will forget her name.
She listens to a love song and envies the singer's experiences.
She forgets if she has her own.
She walks to class and arms herself with a notebook,
Scribbling pretentious poetic verses in the margins,
and copying someone else's words in between,
and drifting off into the tick-tick-tap of someone else's life.