The Grim Reaper reaches deeper,
Over-eager to catch a keeper,
Create another ever-sleeper,
At the expense of ever-weepers.

Playing heart-string harps, his hand extends,
Lost in searching, he transcends
O'er prayers and pleas. He descends:
The catalyst of anguished ends.

A terminator of life's coda,
Enternally, he fills his quota.

Often find myself dazed
In in a haze for days on end.
Hence,
I become pallid
From the overwhelming plethora of invalid
Excuses I provide for my incompetence.

Banana bread is not so difficult an endeavor, with regards to goods for baking.
Thusly so, I once lightheartedly chose to pursue the undertaking.
My focus was unwavering, my measurements painstaking,
I exuded utter confidence that not a single step would be forsaken.

I felt so meticulous,
To some extent ridiculous,
In my quest to achieve perfection.
But proud I was,
And all because,
I could make such a confection.

Hence, I could only be baffled, with an awe-stricken stare,
When at the end of my baking-bonanza,
I glanced at the counter, and noticed with despair
That a forgotten ingredient remained lying there:
I had baked it all sans banana.

You're leaving tomorrow.
Where did the time go?
More importantly, what have we got to show?

You'll be gone by nine,
And I'll spend my time
Crying
Until these useless tear ducts of mine
Are empty.

Life is not a game.
Yet, some people still aim
To play,
And walk away
With a trophy in their hands.

Dear "adults",
I hate it when you look down on those of us in high school,
As if there's some sort of unspoken rule
That the time we spend in such a place
Is supposed to be sublime.

"Stop complaining."
I'm sorry, I assumed that when you asked about my day
I wasn't supposed to mask what I say
And tell you that everything is swell.

To what extent will you dismiss my discontent
Toward the discipline with hardly any discipline nowadays?

"You'll miss it. Just wait until you get into the real world."
The "real world"?
Why, suddenly, is my world not real enough for you?
From all I've been through in my life,
High school has presented me with the most strife, and so
Since when is a bit of resentment
Unjustified?

The nerve you pride
Yourself in having, presuming
That there is any amount of artificiality in my reality
Is infuriatingly consuming.

How can you think we could make any sense
Of the difficulties surrounding anything but what we've experienced?
This I cannot comprehend.
But maybe you want us to pretend?

"How was school today?"
Oh, it was okay.
I only dealt with misunderstanding,
The pressure of classes being so demanding,
The difficulty of self consciousness
That is amplified each day by bullies' relentlessness.
I only endured mental exhaustion
From switching subjects each hour, without option.
I simply struggled with your expectation
That colleges should long to give me an invitation,
Even though I'm being forced to commit to
A life plan I've made based off the little I've been through.

School is a privilege, we know,
Yet, so is possessing a job.
So why, then, am I a snob,
When you're allowed to 'complain'?

I realize that life could be much worse for me,
And someday high school might seem like a breeze,
But until the day comes when I become aware
That the troubles of high school cannot compare,
Let me have my time to vent, please.