With your hand in mine, I feel safe
With your arms around me, I feel warm
With your look at me, I feel strong
With your finger's caress, I feel fragile
With your kiss, I feel wanted

With your everything, I feel me
Without you, I feel **worthless

I try, I can't
Everything is heavy all around.
I'm getting lost.
I fall, I stumble
I continue on, like nothing is wrong.
I'm losing.
I stop, I stare
I can't, Not anymore.
I lost.

it may not look like it, but i am trying very hard.
you think i’m bad because i’m late to class even though
you don’t know why. look at my essays like you know
what grade they’re going to get, when you haven’t even
read them yet. you think because my quiz scores aren’t
perfect that i don’t understand.

but people have different capabilities;
maybe i’m not where i’m supposed to be,
and i need you to stop judging me for that.
all people ever see is how it looks like;
you’re never going to understand if you don’t try.

i haven’t slept right since school started, trying to solve
math problems which don’t seem to make sense. i read
the textbook before i was asked; did every single thing i
was supposed to. it’s crazy. it meant waking up at dawn
after sleeping at two in the morning.

you don’t know how it feels when your best is never
enough, and you have no idea how hard it is to keep
doing that, to keep trying anyway.
you don’t know how often we break.
i have learned to count myself strong, not because i win my
battles, but just because i face them.

we learn to compromise, sacrifice. i don’t have poems
in my head anymore (it’s a mess in there), and i don’t
have the energy to play sports. i don’t see my friends
except in the corridors, all in a rush to get somewhere.

we get no credit, and all the shame. our stories don’t
get told; they’re not the ones where people clap at the
end. we are neglected, felt sorry for, or hated. we are
spectacular at failing to amaze.

we have learned to cheer for ourselves because no one
else will. learned to act like it’s not a problem, that
coffee is your best friend, and you spend nights
studying, just to get lower scores than the rest of them.

tell yourself you’re not tired even when the minute you
start to rest you feel like you’re collapsing. always feel
like crying but you stop yourself; who cares if you’re
exhausted? you still have to finish those papers; you still
have to answer those tests.

what does any of it mean? why am i graded with a C or
a D? are they telling me i will not lead a good life, that i
am doomed already? my story has not started and no, my
fate will not be decided like this. you cannot pass
judgments on my character based on numbers on a paper.

i am more than all these requirements that never end. i
am the work i put into them. so instead of looking down on
me, let us carry ourselves with some dignity. after all, it’s not
a game; it’s not a race. we’re all stuck in the same place. and
the world is tough for everyone, regardless of our “grades.”

i am the poem and the poetess,
with irregular rhyme patterns and
dreams in clouds brewed from midnight coffee.

i am a prose neatly typed out,
handed in ten minutes after the deadline
stained with morning black tea.

And as we sit across the table
From each other
I realize that instead of this
Exam review
I’d much rather study you

And I'm thinking of you -
while studying maths -
I wanna say hi,
but it will just make things harder to bear,
as I realise you've finally moved on...

And well,
*I haven't.

Billy Collins said "high school is the place poetry goes to die."
I would have to disagree.
High school is monotonous and horrible
and awful and wonderful.
Some do not understand poetry and they may hate to read and write it
and poetry may not be written.
but does it have to be?
We are living high school poetry.
Poetry is exploding onto life's pages.
When else do we have the emotions that we have now?
every teenage love affair,
every essay,
every night of studying until we cannot stay awake,
every audition,
trying to find yourself over and over again,
the practices,
the tears,
and the accomplishments.
That is poetry.
We're busy, and may not write it,
but poetry is lived by us.
Poetry is feeling,
emotion,
something that matters,
jumping in the lake,
a late night meeting of friends,
staying home alone on Friday,
wondering if we are needed.
We're living our poems.
To let everybody else know all one needs to do is pick up a pen.

Sitting in the local coffee shop,
Listening to coffee shop songs,
Doing work but simultaneously
Watching people.

Studying psychology,
Of the abnormal type,
Watching behaviors,
But not reflecting inward.

Sipping hot coffee,
Burning your mouth on it,
But trying not to react.
Someone across the cafe saw you; ****!

Studying people,
Drinking coffee nonchalantly,
Watching behavior,
Reflect inward, ******.
Reflect inward.