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Storm 5d
I don’t know what I’m reading.

I stare and stare and stare at the book given to me by my professor but can’t bring myself to open it, because I don’t know what I’m reading. It’s not in a foreign language that I’m having a hard time translating, because ironically, that would be far too easy. It’s in my native language, the words registering to my brain like breathing, but I still don’t know what I’m reading.

What are these authors saying, as they twist and weave their words into a world that everyone around me seems to understand? I can see the surface level of what the author is trying to say, and if I try hard enough I know I can scratch at it to see the layer right underneath, but it’s not enough. It’s never enough.

“Don’t give excuses,” my professor says, and I know it comes across as an excuse as I try to explain that I can’t tell anyone what the underlying meaning of this scene means, or the symbolism it’s supposed to represent, since it goes flying over my head like a bird narrowly avoiding collision.

“You need to participate,” my professor says, and I know I need to try but how can I when everything that takes ages for me to think of is said within the first five minutes of class discussion? What takes me an hour takes my classmates a minute; what takes time for me to raise my hand for takes my classmates to the next topic, my contribution long past relevant.

How do I survive college this way? How do I get by when writing is what I’m good at, but I can’t understand the writing of other authors and poets who put just as much work into their stories as I do? I am a fraud; the looks of confusion and shame I receive when I state my major to the world are well-deserved.

“Could you share with the class?” my professor asks before we are dismissed, the eyes of my classmates tearing into my soul as I try to bring the words to my lips that I know will never come. What could I say to everyone that expects an intelligent conversation from a college senior?

“I’m sorry professor,” I say. “I can’t.” And I sag under the weight of disappointment.

It’s not my fault, after all. I don’t know what I’m reading.
college is getting to me. send help.
Theo Dec 6
Dear *** of Study,
I put my brain in your hands
Help me pass all my exams!

I'll be good all year round,
help my GPA from crashing on the ground.

All I need is a curvy C,
because that's what'll get me my degree.

Help.
i’m
stressed
hair: gross
college: failing
existence: crying
skin: breaking out
assignments: too many
ap exams: getting closer
i want to graduate already
send
help*

Happy Holidays Everyone! :)
NuBlaccSoul Jul 10
I remember her.
But I remember her differently now.

She was melody,
A sweet sounding summer song.
Ballads bellowed below, brass bass
reverberated round gongs, going gag.
Her eyes spoke the misery of worlds,
Yet, with a smile brought peace to a ravaged soul.
Memories morphed into melancholy
Our dry bones with melting marrow of pain ***** again,
Letting it seep through the cracks of a once whole heart, thought to be incapable to feel.

Redemption - left for dead - rose.
Wallflowers wallpaper into still reds.
Red of blood, red of passion, red of danger , red of sin.
Sin that not even the lucid can avoid.
Velvety crimson haemmoraging life.
Becoming, being, be. Breaking black.
A scene of a thousand sunsets,
A sight of a freedom of doves only to be captured and enclosed in a dark, dark memory.
Flaking coffins of my palate
Cromoniun incence with crow cranium

I remember her.
She would remember me differently.
Only as a thought of momentary happiness,
An anomaly of an intimate feeling too great to define.
I was the calm amidst her tornado.
An avalanche taking over her very existence, pulsing through her veins, consuming her inner-being.

Plastic spring summer bright bundled
Autumn animosity and winter nu-ness
A calm sandy beach with a mayhem of waters consumed and controlled by desire.
When the waters come you won't survive the waves.
By the time you run, it'll be swimming against currents
An electrifying pulse of push punching shove tide,  tucked safely in the underbelly of under leagues sea, below Patrick's rock, exhaling energies from one lung to squirrel trees.
Money-watering branches.
Twigs in their twilight on an orange afternoon .
Yellow was his blue.

I remember her.
But I remember her differently now  
Becoming, being, be.
(C) 2018.  - a nu blacc soul gone crimson , on a Durban winter night
lilly Jun 5
perhaps this has lost its spark

perhaps i no longer feel the words hanging on the edge of my tongue
waiting for my mouth to open and for them to drip off
onto paper
the way they always used to
used
to

or perhaps the doors to my mouth (heart) have been slammed shut by expectations
from my family (no)
my friends (no)
society (no it's not)

from myself

exams and grades and my overwhelming urge to try hard and work hard and do well and i'm just so scared of failing—

it builds upon my shoulders
i feel like atlas carrying the weight of the earth except
there's nothing beautiful in the weight i'm carrying
there's nothing living

perhaps i'm thinking too much
this might just be paranoia (no)
this might just be writer's block (no)
this might just be me being me (it's not)

perhaps i've just lost a bit of inspiration

*perhaps i've just lost a bit of myself
maybe i just don't know
Sarah Mann May 10
A student weary from the week cries out, it's like
"We're trying to one up each other in misery"
Day by day,
Every single one, lines up straight, and rigid
Takes the time to confess and lays down
What's going on, around in this town?
The culture that is spreading is toxic.
Similar to a disease, where is our CDC?
Who is supposed to protect my life from me?
From my destructive, wasteful ways
From those long and uninterrupted days
Why do the teens have less and less life jumping between their minds?
Less and less excitement found in their blurry far too tired eyes
Dull, dreary, and exhausted
Walking into here feels like pushing against an immortal force
We trudge through the mud afraid of what comes next
I'm wondering if the girl next to me knows.
If she believes that the way we're going leads to the cold
To the undeserving, to those that remain untold.
I wonder and wonder for hours, but it's in my mind and I know.
This life style that is so widely encouraged and yet also frowned upon.
The controversy sets up success almost as a paradox.
Impossible, not achievable at least in this reality.
Should I sacrifice my health for a good grade in a class I don't even like.
Education, the path to freedom, but it feels as if living our lives in a ****.
Consuming coffee with enough sugar to make heart spike far above normal and to pump my adrenaline.  to get me going
My heartbeat is pumping too loud for me to hear.
“I despise where I am,”
the repetition of my statement is nauseating
I mean I do what I can, but it seems to never be enough.
And yet so many of us find ourselves relating
Why would students today rather die that go to school this way?
Why would I rather stay home sick just to avoid the stress?
How do you change our system, our very broken system that is no where near the best.
I don't know how to fix the problem, if I even can.
May, the time of finalities, whether it be exams, projects, or tests.
A performance scheduled during AP week, what a brilliant idea
Why don’t you just sign the forms to drive the students completely mad.
I'm not good with time management.
I’m not good at taking math tests or test in general that is.
So why have I taken 5 standardized in this week alone.
That seems a bit absurd.
We’re giving it our all, I promise.
Please give us a break, please let’s change the mentality
The toxicity of the prepatory student mindset
If not for me, or my fellow students, for the future.
Please the pressure is capsizing our success,
And our SOS doesn’t seem to be getting through
So I hope this message reaches you.
Written Wednesday, May 9, 2018, amidst AP exam week.
Mica Kluge May 10
See her? With the impeccable taste in fashion?
She's top of her class in calculus. You probably didn't know that.
See him? With the fearless glint in his eye?
He's studying science, but he has the soul of a poet. Tests lie.
See her? Buried behind a stack of books nine tall and three deep?
She's terrified that she'll get a B, because, to her, that's failing.
See him? Museum-quality doodles and red ink decorate his papers.
He'll be president one day, if he can find something that he loves.
See me? No, actually you probably don't see me. Why would you?
I've managed to dangle from the rim of the outskirts of life so far.
Someone once told me that seeing gifts is a gift itself. Maybe it's true.
But, didn't they ever tell you that geniuses doubt themselves, too?
That we doubt ourselves most of all?
Your story is just as important as the ones all around you.
Will May 5
Rain drips off of the schools rooftop.
I dash quickly, hoping to avoid getting wet.
Perfect timing.
As I cross the roofs threshold, a large drop of water hits my right eye.
I brush it away.
Today is my final final.
The cloudy sky and rain are almost poetically intertwined with my GPA.
I look over to the grass separating my building and me.
Faint muddy footprints show in the trampled grass.
I wonder how many students have walked this path in the rain?
Placing my feet in the same steps, I carefully walk through the wetness.
Reaching the school's door, I place my hand on the glass and turn around.
I wonder...
Hidden Glace Jan 10
I'm finished with this
I know you're hurting
I know I can't leave you alone
But I know how to leave.

MY ARM BLEEDS FOR SOMEONE ELSE

Sometime I hope we'll be able to do this again
write back and forth with
all the things we feel
and all the things we want to say

I HAVEN'T CUT FOR YOU. EVER.

I found someone else
I'm happy.
You haven't
I can't afford the pity.

I WISH I COULD JUST WAKE UP FROM MY OWN NIGHTMARE

You keep telling me
indirectly
passive-aggressively
that I need to change

WELL I CAN

So I'm starting with you.
I changed how I feel to protect you told you I did.
I'm sorry
But I have too much weighing me down
without the pressure
that only a snowstorm can provide.
I'm very sorry, but I can't keep writing to you.
I'll be back after finals, maybe.
See you later Seph.
Ww Jan 8
the halls today are filled
of walking husks of people
heavy mutter clutter the air
all are looking feeble

textbook-laden brains
lips a-coffee stained
eyes manic to the brim
composure wearing thin

stress-filled laughters
litter conversations,
every word carry the burden
of hard sleepless nights

some are carefree
but most are buried inside the library
a last ditch effort to arm the cavalry
as the enemy nears the periphery

the bell rings loud
the masses resort to silence,
the death toll rang
all around the campus

as the door came crashing down
you can almost hear
the desperate souls' silent cries
as "FINALS" enter with a smile.
apology for the jumbled verses
for this was born as my brain traverses
between panic to dilemma
from philosophies to subpoenas
from economy to mitochondrias
from pen to paper
this poem I cater.

I just needed to let go of some steam. cause **** I'm so stressed right now.
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