What to do...
I'll look it up.
Just ten steps they say?

That's all it takes?
They're kidding, right?
I'll look at it anyway.

One
Don't tell him that you're miserable.
Don't let him see your pain.
Keep his spirits up,
And don't let him see
That you miss him more each day.

Two
If you're engaged, or committed
Always try to remember:
He's doing this not only for himself
But for you
And your future together.

Three
Encouragement is key, now.
Let him think you're doing okay.
Don't let him know
That you're depressed.
"I'm fine, I promise." you'll have to say.

Four
First he'll go through boot camp,
Then after that is school.
His job will depend
On where he is,
Which might not be near you.

Five
The Navy is very demanding
So don't expect contact right away
He's probably busy;
He's worse off than you;
Give him a bit of a break.

Six
Try to write him every day,
Even if he says not to.
It'll feel like
A conversation, of sorts,
Even if his replies are few.

Seven
Nothing colorful on the letters,
Nothing girly or cute.
If his commander sees that,
He'll be made fun of,
And given more push-ups to do.

Eight
This step says to just relax,
Find a hobby, don't wait and sit.
Do something, do anything,
Keep yourself busy,
It'll be over before you know it.

Nine
Keep in touch with his family;
They are suffering too.
Chances are
They've been with him longer
And are hurting twice as much as you.

Ten
Stay faithful to him, always.
Don't be the girl that roams.
Be fair to your sailor,
Tell him you love him,
And you're waiting for him to come home.

Ten steps is all it takes, they say.
Ten steps and you'll be fine.
Even with ten steps to take,
I'll miss you dearly, sailor of mine.

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.

Don't cry at my funeral;
It won't be a sad occasion.
Remember me, instead, happily.
He says with mild persuasion.

He calls her name, and she returns;
Humming their song, hiding concern,
He holds her hand, and says three words;
It's then to tears she turns.

It's not your funeral yet, old man. I'm allowed to cry.
He puts her hand above his heart, and says,
Then why aren't I allowed to die?

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.

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.

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.

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.

I am the Robot with the improbable dream:
I want to be human, the hominid supreme.
Yet, I plead for this with silent screams
For I am only a machine.

I am thoroughly dysfunctional,
Defective, inept, delusional,
Pathetic and utterly unusable,
Inadequate and artificial.

I'm synthetic, poorly composed of alloys,
Crudely manufactured and wasting away.
My will to endure has long been destroyed.
I await my welcome decay.

Bestowed upon me is an incessant sorrow
From years of feeling used and borrowed.
Life never improves, not now, not tomorrow,
So I am devoid of hope; I'm hollow.

I'm riddled with inane fears and faulty gears,
And I'm rusting further over the years.
I anticipate a merciless demise,
But I no longer suffer from the need to survive,

For I experience chronic strife;
I have the impossible desire to teem with life.
With monotony, this dream I have sought,
For I will never accept that I am naught but a robot.

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