Today I am so nervous,
I have my first job interview,
That I already rescheduled three times,
I have an honors graduation ceremony,
and my mother will be putting my robe on,
Infront of my peers,
I have a practice before that,
That lasts two hours,
Then I run to my interview,
Then run home to change,
Then be at the ceremony at 6:30
It's a busy day,
and to think,
That tommarow,
I graduate....
maybe tommarow I'll read this poem
and laugh,
I didn't need to be so worried
after all.

Nervousness is the feeling in you're chest,
The light tap tap of the heart,
With a tingling feeling,
Like a butterfly wants to rip out of you're chest,
But stays trapted in a cage,
with a one track mind,
That won't leave you for days,
As you loose sleep and wait,
As worrie and you're face changes,
Pale,
Butterfly, Butterfly,
Please go away...

Oh crap,
I applied for mcdonalds,
But I didn't really want the job,
Now I have an interview,
A day before my graduation ceremony,
****,
I'm supposed to have another job interview,
With another burger flipping place,
****,
What do I say,
What do I do,
Nervousness consumes me...
Bla...

Promises are never delivered,
They are said but lay silent like corpses,
Because there is no life in these kinds of words,
Like a peaceful thought
They are a nice idea
But when reality hits
You find those words where much uglier.

Working at a golf course,
Can mostly be a bore,
Nothing much to do,
But admire the grass and the early morning sunlight,
The smell of rabbit ****
mixed with morning dew,
Time doesn't fly but it's something you get used to,
But at least,
The boring is a peaceful one.

We are kind of funny,
We come out of a hole breathing,
And go back to hole rotting,
              Fin.

West side house.
By: Hayden Mills.

When I was eight, seven, six,
The older boys and girls who lived in my area,
Had tight cliques,
Most of the boys Latino, Mexican,
White, black,
Listening to 2pac and wakaflaka,
"Let ya nutz hang" was the matto for some,
Brother vs. Brother one was ended with the sound of a gun,
One bullet made the heart go numb,
Now this doesn't mean any of us lived in the streets,
Yet a lot of kids my age claimed to be,
Most of us had a warm place and hot plate to eat,
No ghetto,
But the older boys in my area still dressed in black sagged geans,
Black shirts with the white one underneath,
Shaved heads or hats or bandanas,
A chain and a watch,
So the pretty girls would watch.