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"Why I Was Late..."
from a cool classroom seat, with a view out the window
a boy ponders his past and attempts to look to the future
the golden stars, green, red and blue too
just like the thumbtacks that held A+'s to walls at home
and teachers and parents and everyone were proud
of their special boy and how theres no one like him to be found
his smarts, intelligence, his love to read
their story of suburban success began to spin
and from this hard chair he brings latter days to view
he wonders where success has gone
midle schools high honor charts, report cards full of A's
have been traded in place by failing out grades and oftenly cut class
no more golden stars or proud report cards
no more honors certificates or great achievements
just a new list of possible side effects thumbtacked to the wall
to remind the boy hes the same success and not so weak inside
so he goes on with life, each day a new play
in which he acts out what could have been his life
had he not lost control, not lost his mind
he may not have to act like hes fine
now only doing the homework he can force
push out to even act like he cares
the boy is tired now, having trouble lying now
too tired to not have trouble trying to act
from this painful chair, he knows he no longer cares
as if he realized this painful fact the first time
he puts down the poem of "why i was late..."
and crawls to the front of the room
from the teachers desk he pulled out the pair
held them high like some great salvation
pryed them apart, gashed out his wrists, smeared them on the words
when teacher arrived, to body and page, said "what a poor excuse"
Well, everything that I would have said about this, seems to have been said already! It really was an amazing poem. You've written about this subject in such a raw and striking way. The last two lines really made an impact. You write awesomely.
Lauren x
WOW..Just WoW....Great Write!
I know how it is, I feel that very way everyday... the gashed out wrists are all too familier... all to underrated. If i was your teacher... I'd accept that excuse.
Do you ever notice how when you dont need to achieve greatness you can and when all the pressure is on you to do it, all the expectations, the mear thought of greatness induces nausia?
You are an writer.
DAMN! Powerful stuff, my friend. I'm not sure what else to say... Geezzz... Not often this happens. I'd like to talk to ya, tho... If you have Yahoo Messenger, my SN is blackmetalcrazy. You've sparked an interest. Nice job!