Tags
alcohol, beautiful, drugs, education, experiences, poem, poet, poetry, school, weed, write, writer, writing
I never asked for the girls to snap my neck:
Why I never made it to class.
I never asked for the bus driver to be funny:
Why I always miss the stop at the student union.
Digging clouds to find my destiny,
Each hit, breaking a piece of different shape,
God never blessed my consistency.
Or was I in the lecture hall,
My head higher than the projector.
So it was hard to see
Maybe the optimist
(and I mean the proud)
Are begging for pity
In their rich successful laughters,
Fists bumping in the air
And voices penetrating
As if they’re the only ones there.
Learning math teaches
There’s a different way to solve every problem.
So you can get lifted, or settle with buzzed
Don’t know how, but this part of life is solemn.
The assignments mean our life is due—
Why they call it a deadline
We’ll be dead if we cross that line.
So we dance all near it
Then, entertainment down right before the second.
Not yours, but call it our lifestyle
