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Millie Sep 2
I live in my head
More than the outside world
Details go unnoticed
And I perceive events as images and emotional swirls
The others don’t understand
They think I’m careless
Or bizarre
But I’m content in this land where none of the people are
Some time ago one went on a little trip*
To check out the internet poetry landscape
What one saw remained in the mind's tape
A movie reel which had a compelling grip
Poet's comments were of such cliquish old rock
Like being an exclusive remarking club
Outsider verses left out of their hub
The scenery verily stunned one with much shock
One so wishes one had not gone away
A dream of venturing did disenchant
The roads lead to (an in house favouring)
After sighting the terrain's mode of sway
Taking a journey one may well recant
*These vistas weren't enjoyable savouring
Forsaken in the coldest corridors
of the cruelest institutions.
Colleagues converge like cows
in slaughterhouses
unswervingly hasten
to assigned lockers filled with
noted secrets and
academic paraphernalia.
Allies and adversaries
divide into tribes and cliques
as the diplomat amongst them all
frolics freely in a meadow of segregation. Hypercritical eyes gawk and murmur
as they silently denounce their modesty
and uphold delusions of grandeur
and narcissism.
Real geniuses organize
their chiffoniers in the most
haphazardly fashions
and achieve systematical creativity.  Popularized pretty faces
and well shaped bodies
that hold solutions to every
life's problem and are adored
by so many,
have the ugliest insides,
bloated bellies and
more skeletons in their closets
then they let anyone know.
Blustering bullies can't cope
with Cadillac comfort and
take rage and aggression
out by downgrading
educated eggheads
with verbal assault and
quarrelsome quirks
to make themselves
feel better.
Poncho hooded hippies and
recreational reefers congregate
to the abyss of lost souls
in knitted footbag circles.  
Faceless, heartless, mindless,
bloodthirsty jockstraps
reach for the lowest stars
of temporary popularity and fame
amongst other classmates
that they hold up in high regards.
From the athletics department
to the art classes,
from pep rally's
to assemblies,
from extracurricular activities
to smoking in bathroom hangouts,
from making out in stairwells
to passing each other drawings of
stink-lined teachers,
they all feast like it's
Thanksgiving on
mystery meat Mondays in the cafeteria. Fruitless alma mater is a useless tool
that doesn't apply to real life
and adulthood,
other than to achieve
fabricated diplomas and degrees
through their system of education
to get a higher paying job
and upper management
to pay off student loans
in this never ending
circle of solipsism.
Cobwebbed libraries
hold old dusty books
containing more useful knowledge
than school can provide and
teach you what you're actually
interested in to help you
through the hardships of life
but there is no reward
for self-education
in this saddened world.
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