I sit
And I look through my planner
At all these days that I am expected
To live through.
Part of me
Doesn't care about what is expected,
And longs to do the UNexpected
Just to regain some small respect
For myself.
This small part of me
Wants to tell all these little, boxed in days
To go to hell
That a day
In a week
Can't confine me...
But then the rest of me remembers
That a GPA
does define me...

The active part of me
Reminds the inactive
That you are what you do
That it is simply not acceptable
To just be
you.