You struggled to make friends the first day of high school.
You lied about your interests, and changed your style
Just to be in a group
Who got drunk every Friday, and high every Saturday.
Who screamed, “**** *******, get money,” at the top of their lungs
Like it was their teenage religion, and they were the preachers.
From being homeschooled, to participating in that cross-faded crowd,
It was a big leap for you merely to say the phrase, the prayer,
Much less act upon it, pushing yourself over your limits, once again.
It is your senior year now, and the cliff into chivalry
Is one you could not even consider jumping off anymore.
Your mom drug tests you once a month, shame on her face.
And you have too many petty offences to make anyone outside your group proud.
Sports were too cool for your group; you have to be sober to play, apparently.
And if you had anything higher than a C in a class, you were kicked out.
To “go with the nerd groups” and be the topic of next Friday’s teases.
Now everybody hates you, the kid who was so quiet on the first day
Who is on a path to nowhere, with, “**** *******, get money,” as your only prayer.