Since it was such a beautiful day,
my high school art teacher had us go out to sketch a section of the school.
I have reason to believe we were faced away from the scenery the entire time.
Someway,
somehow,
the sweet sublime of noontime in spring was consumed completely by unbridled,
uncleansed boredom.
We stared down the ugly,
open hallway that our teacher almost tried to persuade us is pretty.
The dirt between the two sidewalks had been so pressed down from rain and being trampled,
it would often be confused for the sidewalk when students didn’t watch their step.
The pebbles by where we sat were covered in dust,
about as dry as the spot made me feel.
There were a few trees that stood like awkward,
gawking freshman boys.
The hall was lined with faded paint,
and asymmetrically placed doors,
windows,
and polls.
Altogether it was an urban obstruction.

tedious and monotonous
not retaining the useless information
keeping my head down
so people won't talk to me
if they do
I fear it won't be nice
students avoid me
and that's fine by me
they aren't very courteous to begin with
I finish my work in a flash
then dive into my book
teachers like me
and students come to me for help
I quite like this interaction

Losing hours of sleep
Hours of my life
Over things that don't matter,
Won't matter in a few years time.

Why?
Why must you torture me in such a way?
Why,
Why must you make me fall in love with it, the feelings of achievement and acceptance,

Only to break my heart when I fall subpar?
When I'm a B-grade,
Grade leveled,
Average
Disappointment.

Why is anything less than perfect disappointing?
Why am I losing sleep over this?
Why am I losing my life over this?

The screams and shouts
The running and sprinting
The rumors and secrets
The whispers and murmurs
The dread of knowing your day isn't done just quite yet
The popular kids; and the nerds
The shy kids; and the loud
It all happens in passing period

When is a scooter
not a scooter?
When you don't scoot,
and I'm the scooter-
pusher.

school is frying my brain,
I can't keep up with the strain,
my neurology is down in the drain,
this workload drives me insane,
my backpack'll lend me a sprain,
and my posture will give me back pain,
these textbooks shall be my bane,
I lament this hail and rain,
of takeout and shirt stains,
of dreary weather, snow and rain,
I feel like I've been hit by a train,
every word I say is incoherent and inane,
so tell me, how do I stay sane?

I have a D+ in chemistry.
I have a D+ in chemistry, despite doing my best work throughout the quarter.
I have a D+ in chemistry, so I hired a tutor.
I have a D+ in chemistry, so I obsessed over it for a while.
I have a D+ in chemistry, but my hard work continues.
I have a D+ in chemistry, but the laughs of me and my friends still fill my school halls.
I have a D+ in chemistry, but my scars remain healed.
I have a D+ in chemistry, but I can still listen to music late at night, while the summer air fills my room through an open window.
I have a D+ in chemistry, but the wind still hits my face when I step outside, lifting my hair from my shoulders, the sun wiping my cheek.
I have a D+ in chemistry, but the moon still shines behind the clouds, reminding me she’s still there.
I have a D+ in chemistry, so I’ll do better.

I've never felt second best,
Being a twin, you get asked a lot of questions:
"Who's older?"
"Who's smarter?"
"Who's the favorite?"
But you never gave into them:
"They were born at the same time"
"They both have straight A's"
"I love them both so much"
What's changed?

I've learned that I'm younger,
Only by a second—a moment,
My birth certificate bears a different time,
Yet we still tell people we're the same age
Because the difference doesn't define us.

Now I'm starting to fail my classes,
Not a single A to my name anymore.
You must think of her as the smarter one,
While I'm the one who can't be bothered:
No homework, no studying, no perfect SAT score.
Have things changed because you've finally chosen a favorite?
And of course, it's her.

I've grown to hate myself,
So it's not surprising you do too.
You see yourself in me and loathe it,
Support no longer feels like support
Because you can't imagine I'd be anything like you:
Of course I'm not sad,
Or anxious enough to pass out,
Of course I'm faking when I'm throwing up
So you'll send me to school.

But when she wants to stay home,
You shower her with love,
Buy her favorite foods,
While you'd take mine away to keep me thin.

When I want to disappear,
I'm still second best.
You'll cry, but still yell,
Making me feel guilty for wanting you to care.

I'll keep my head down—float with the majority,
And try to live with being second priority.
But know that I am more than your reflection;
More than a twin, more than second best.
I am my own person, worthy of love,
Even if you can't see it yet.