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Precious Nov 2013
A walk down the hall, all I feel is change.
Out of all the years, this one won't be the same.
New principal, more freshmen, a new set of rules.
My teachers wonder why it's like I'm never in school.

In 9th grade we had freedom, freedom of speech.
I said what I meant; I always mean what I speak.
If I felt like "forget the world," that came out of my mouth.
In 12th grade, they took all of that freedom out.

If you dropped the "F-bomb", ISS.
They put you in a white room where you can't pass a test.
Then they wonder why grades are so low.
There's no hope in the future, students seem slow.

Don't question authority, that's disrespect.
Here's a little Ritalin to keep your kids in check.
I can't let my teachers know they don't teach me a thing.
They think we'll all be flipping burgers and frying onion rings.

"Why put in any effort if they don't listen?
They have iPods and cell phones, they don’t pay attention!"
Excuse me Ms., some of us do truly want to be taught.
Why are you dismissing all the rights that, with lives, we fought?

See, you're sealing all our fates with your apathy.
Then you look at us and in the distance you see anarchy.
Oh well, another day filled with ringing bells.
Learning more stuff I can't say to my teachers.
This is Hell.

— The End —