Several years have passed,
Since I entered last,
It all went by too fast,
But what is past, is past,

To roll down one's cheek,
Like a little blue streak,
To be all but meek,
About being chique,

To fall in love with a boy,
To tease and be coy,
To be bored out of your mind,
and to play with a toy,

To move and relocate,
The urge to populate,
To quietly suffocate and,
To want to defenestrate,

To tap and to pop,
And cafeteria slop,
Ask about a sad mop,
And to epicly  rock,

To create a playlist,
and to tease balled fists,
To hide amongst swollen mist,
And not to have time on your wrist,

To drop a spork,
and to study a cork,
In order to work,
And to stalk Bjork,

Which brings us to now,
And I don't know how,
With the time I'm allowed,
Through these lines, I quickly plowed,