"cramming" poems
Exams:
How wonderful they are
Because in the moments leading up to them
I’m ******* happy
A fantastic sense of euphoria
Something I haven’t felt in forever
Because teachers stop teaching
A few days before
Easy reviews and exam prep starts
And I get to relax
Nothing new to learn
Just old things to remember
Then they actually happen
And I remember why they’re so horrid
Cramming the night before
When your friends tell you
The test wasn’t as easy as you’d hoped
And remind you that no amount of prep could prepare you
Exams are ******* hard
Don’t you dare try to tell me otherwise.
I cry myself to sleep after hours of staring blankly at a full sheet of paper
Eyes wandering but not focusing
My mind turned to madness
Euphoria gone all too soon
And I’m back to hating myself
Wanting to quit and give up everything
But I can’t
Because as everybody says
It’s just exams
Like they don’t realize the anxieties and pressure that come from those four letters
I hate them
And the worst part is I know I’ll survive them
And have to suffer through again next year
And the year after that
Until the year that the exams conquer me
Absolutely destroying me inside and out
And I guess I’ll just wait for that to happen
Hopefully sooner rather than later.
Dec 20, 2018
Dec 20, 2018 at 9:28 PM UTC
Dear exams,
I'm sorry to say, but I've lost all interest in you. I don't see why I didn't
lose interest in you sooner to be completely honest. I use to love learning
new things and cramming useless information into my cranium, but I must
say that forcing myself to study to pass your standards is just not who I am.There's no need to throw a question I cannot answer in my face whenever you're upset. Nor do I have to explain myself to you for that matter. Has anyone told you you ask a lot of questions?
I must admit that I am not perfect, but neither are you. You are filled
with errors and flaws that I must say are simple mistakes. I will always
remember you, but I don't think my memory of you will be a fond one...
I am grateful for all the support you've given me especially with my
grades, but I will admit that understanding you was difficult. I remember
hopelessly thinking about you all night after seeing you. I felt terrible
because I literally had no idea how to go about answering your fifty
questions. Even though you gave me choices it was still a difficult decision
to make. I went home that night disappointed thinking that I had messed
up my only chance with you.
But now you're back, but I admit I am definitely not excited about it.
And I will see you again today, which like I said I am not excited about. I
guess that all we can ever be now is acquaintances. A student to exam
relationship that definitely bares no love what so ever. I cannot wait to be
done with you. As they say, there are a million exams in the library...
And they should all be thrown away.
P.S: The paper shredder was looking for you.
Sincerely,
The unhappy student
Jan 23, 2015
Jan 23, 2015 at 2:56 PM UTC
Worries, worries, cramming up my head.
I wish I could just take a break.
But of course it's not easy,
Since everything has been really ******
Maybe I should just bottle, bottle them in, instead.
Sigh.
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 10:47 AM UTC
I try to hard to perfect it... someone has to notice my effort.
I drown my sorrows in a book, cramming information into my "empty" mind according society.
I am on a high from caffeine , I have to be superwoman.. save the day, save the world and stuff...
I give my all , fight to the last second but my best is not good enough anymore. In my own highway of dreams I carry coffins of rejects.....
I am tired of writing my "wrongs" that society identified..
I am tired of being perfect and tired of being tired...
I was not good enough for my mother, who chose to find acceptance in a bottle...I had a boy for a father and a judge as society..
As time stands still I engrave all the "rejects" in my gravestone ....
Here lived a soul not goo enough for society..
I stand bu the coast and shut my eyes .. the breeze hits against my face and for a moment I feel free....
I take these white pills and for a moment I am free,,, acceptable..
I swim in these intoxicating liquid and for a second I am free... acceptable to society,, Good enough....
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 2:17 AM UTC
Jackal in his church pants,
Bad kid with punk jams,
Cramming nonsense in his conscience,
Skateboarding prophets,
Dividing light into chambers,
Bag of **** for his neighbors,
Turned into a living demon bleeding thru the paper,
Applesauce in the inside,
A coconut shell for the front,
Pineapple knives for the slaughtering,
Right into a strawberry's gut,
He was not a normal scorned, occulting youth,
But the lore of a regretful teen plaguing the afternoons,
Till that strawberry gut cracked his coconut noggin,
And shall he rest in bygones and Hanna-Babara monsters,
Mar 29, 2015
Mar 29, 2015 at 8:41 PM UTC
“Exams are important don’t let anyone try to convince you otherwise. People will try telling you that they don’t matter in the great scheme of things
“There is more to life than exams Lisa. It isn’t the end of the world if you don’t obtain the grades to get into university” mum said.
This is all ******** I’ve no intention of spending my life flipping burgers in some crummy burger bar. Do you know they have the cheek to call these places restaurants?! Problem is strictly between you and I, you won’t let it go any further will you? Promise, cross your heart and hope to die? Well as you only have my first name and it would be impossible to trace me I’ll let you into a little secret. The truth is that I am not academically gifted. Don’t get me wrong I try. No one tries harder than me. I’ve spent weekends huddled over my books cramming for my exams, “Lisa no mates that’s me” but it goes in one ear and comes out the other. I just can’t remember things, head like a sieve thats me!
Well here I am now in my room at uni. You should have seen my mum’s face when I got the grades. There she stood her mouth gaping open like a stranded fish. Quite comical really. Did I say that all my hard work paid off? Well it wasn’t that difficult for an 18-year-old bomb shell like me to ****** the head master and get my hands on the exam papers prior to the examination. Perhaps academic qualifications aren’t everything after all”.
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 9:11 AM UTC
I've come to the conclusion
That my life's a wreak
Poetry strewn all about
My house the biggest mess
So here I am in the middle of the den
In a pile of poetry on the floor
A desperate man with phone in hand
Since I can't seem to find the door
I call up a Psychic
I call up my Shrink
I call up the local Priest
To ask them what they think
They say there is no hope for me
Through the static on the phone
Right before they all hang up
I hear...boy you're too far gone
So I grab a hold my bootstraps
Pick my own self up
Determined to have this problem licked
With prayers and major luck
Starting in on this poetic clean
One thing that I found
I wrote on just about anything
That I had laying around
There was poetry on party napkins
On Chinese take out meals
Tiny poetry on tiny matchbooks
Even on banana peals
Poetry on the chandelier
Poetry on my cat Floss
Poetry on ***** dishes
I wrote with spaghetti sauce
Poetry on the mirrors
Smiling back at me
Poetry on Seinfeld
Across my T.V. screen
Poetry on the kitchen tile
That's never seen a mop
On the doors going in and out
And places I dare not look
I started cramming it all in boxes
Lining them up and down the halls
Soon had them in every room
3 feet deep and 8 feet tall
I made 15 trips to storage
The biggest one that I could find
Feeling now it's nice and safe
All packed tight, warm and dry
When it all was over
Feeling relief from that major chore
Set down in my den, took out my pen
And started writing more...
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 7:14 AM UTC
Cold.
I was waiting
but I’ve changed my mind.
The whole world fell away, left just me/us
and it felt OK.
All the stuff I thought mattered;
age-gap, gossip, housing, education-
when it was just me/us- it didn’t.
(she’s awake)
For a moment we were everything.
It was beautiful.
I love me/us- even with
complications pushing
into my mind,
cramming themselves
around me/us euphoria-
I’m not making an Angel today.
Going home.
(what’s she doing?)
Jelly legs aren’t working,
feel hot and slippery.
She’s holding me
down.
(Sshh- you’re fine, just a bit woozy)
I don’t believe in Angels.
Crap.
(it’s the anaesthetic, makes them cry)
Oct 13, 2011
Oct 13, 2011 at 3:44 PM UTC
The trellis of oak trees winked,
captured my soul in a spinney,
chalked whispers of free promises
breathy like a silken shawl trailing
Those wise men of old, withered
skin of bark, tall and strong, waving
their introduction. They bowed to me
in free form, in humble escapism.
Sun had stroked their warm palms,
fed them sweet sap. To my left a
stray leaf, rested amid invisibility,
caught the air train, and spiralled free.
Twizzled to the green painted rug
basking under my cotton covered feet.
Reaching out, it blew away,
I chased the freedom fields.
The brook teased it and set
sail under the woody bridge,
green from seasonal tears.
Lost sight as it spun the space
between us. The grass sprung
its beginnings in full Spring, tall in parts,
summer not yet wrapped and
ready to visit us, much less
invited to the summer ball
where shadows are ten a penny,
and sunshine bought on every
street corner. I am among spring
devoured in daffodil eiderdowns,
elbowing out the crocus, snowdrop
chandeliers. I seagull my way,
swaying in step with willow, blossoming
surprising myself, how I let go of
school day shivers, tinkering my brain
into gear for terms talking tightness,
cramming commas, fat full stops.
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 7:47 AM UTC
Twas the night before finals
And all through the dorms
Not a student was sleeping
Not even a nerd
Everyone sat with their books
And their coffee
Cramming until they
Thought they would burst
When 4AM struck
A sigh could be heard
As finally the students
Put down their heads
For at this point in time
Not a **** did they give
For an A or an F
It didn’t matter
Unemployment was inevitable
And sleep was a given.
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 12:53 AM UTC
This morning we jogged early
I was back in my flat by six-thirty
From my tenth floor view of the Charles River basin,
The morning was incandescently flushed by the peach-colored sun.
The transparent clouds seemed stylistically stained, artfully workshopped, which offered a softened, Tiffany glass effect wholly worthy of worship.
I can’t stop to admire it. I’m jamming things into suitcases.
Cramming things into boxes, giving things away.
I had a second interview Monday afternoon, for Johns Hopkins med school. They put the question to me:
“The semester starts in 18 days - can you do that?”
“Yes,” I replied, and just like that, I'm a Blue Jay.
Of course, I had to withdraw from the masters program but Harvard gave me a full (95K) refund - I think they’re more excited about my med school admission than I am.
I’m not afraid of discordant notes.
They change the landscape.
Take us to new emotional places.
Any major work is going to have them.
.
.
A song for this:
Hang on Little Tomato by Pink Martini
It's Amazing by Jem
Jul 31, 2025
Jul 31, 2025 at 12:45 AM UTC
tight juicy yumness
this crack huge
game’s on point
you had me at that bass
**** homie,
u r too good wit it
run the sick trap
my dude doin work
loving the awesome switch
so paralyzed make love
nicee smooth as buttah
you went in dreamy
way too dope
swoop feels mane
nice flip
caught up on point
my dawg’s cramming
dem hats smoove
fresh cream zonin
fire float’n like puddin
my dude always killin
way too good sir
bro so sophisticated
**** can’t get enough
stunning blend
dope ******* sick
turnt up atmosphere
in that ending tho
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 12:56 PM UTC
I've been stuck inside this lamp
For quite some time
Cramming myself
Into tiny spaces
Constricting myself
To fit
Where I belong
I am your own personal genie
Your wish
Is my command
I bend head over heels
To make every desire
Reality
I am tired
Of these chains
I am waiting
For my freedom
But you will not release me
I will only escape
The day I decide
To make my own wishes
My commands
When your chains of guilt
Turn to dust
And nothing holds me back
Dec 25, 2013
Dec 25, 2013 at 12:26 PM UTC
My fingers roll around the handle
Holding tight, I twist
Slowly, I make my way around the can
All of the sudden
Her hands
Cover mine
Stroking, squeezing
Not guiding
No
Not guiding
But
Her, warming up
Me, cooling down
Yes, freezing me
With the knowledge of what is
To come
With her other hand
She makes a fist
And punches straight through my sternum
Blood sprays and
Shattered fragments of my ribs
Litter the floor
Reaching in
Her poisoned fingers
****** my heart
Leaving behind
Black prints
Red streaks
Evidence
But only I can see it
Within seconds
My spine is tingling
Every muscle in my body
On edge
This gaping hole
These fingers
Draped around,
Constricting the one thing
I thought she couldn't touch
Yes,
It's too much
I am ice cold
I am about to close my eyes
Forever
But before I can succumb
The air in punctuated by a palpable
Pop!
I lift the lid of the can
Set it off to the side
And pour the thick liquid into the ***
The stench is overpowering
It crawls it's way all over the room
Cramming into the very crevices of the wall
Behind me
Above me
Beneath me
I can not escape this smell
I am smothered in a blanket of this decaying odor
I am boiling up
Hot and steamy
With every inhale
My nose is filled with the tendrils of this pungent aroma
Soon I can feel it
Gnawing through my flesh with no set course
I can do
Nothing
I am at the mercy of this smell
It will do with me
Whatever it desires
Please, finish!
Her voice breaks through the fog
Scratchy and distant
But there
You need to finish!
Again, it comes
This horrendous voice
But I don't want to
I know what will happen when
I finish
I know
And I don't want that
I will never want that
I am sick to my stomach
Really, I am
You make me sick
You and that godawful smell
I can't even pick up my spoon
All I can think is
Tomato soup is served
Way too often here
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 12:55 PM UTC
When I was younger, I wanted to grow older
I couldn't wait til I was taller
So I could finally ride the rollercoaster
Adults seemed like they were always right
Always the ones scolding, not putting up a fight
As if they had no problems and their burden was light
They had no projects & homeworks
No papers, theses & essays
No cramming, just relaxing
But as I grew older, I wanted to be younger
So I could get away from my boss
So all the paperworks would be lost
So I won't have to work just for so much cost
I miss my mom at night comforting me after a nightmare
I miss when we'd run around in underwear and no one would care
I miss eating grandma's cookies, and wishing I had more share
Those were the days with no responsibilities, full of carelessness
My biggest problem was choosing what color to use for my princess
Or what color I'd pick next for my braces
But growing up is inevitable
Just like how the sun rises and sets
Just like how we made careless mistakes
Just like how we had to learn the hard way
So while you're young, embrace it
Live every moment to the fullest
Make mistakes, take risks, never let an opportunity pass
Because life is too short for that
Oct 21, 2013
Oct 21, 2013 at 12:27 PM UTC
Forcing an alignment of corporate resources
for some theory of best fit correlation
doesn't work on Kingdom People
when using an unspoken method of tabulation.
If Life is about true spiritual growth,
then why do ministries attempt to pigeon-hole
not making any allowances for us
to develop, expand and break our current mold?
Despite multitudes of outcome possibilities
the Church seems to suffer bouts of paralysis
from the continued mashing of talents and gifts
resulting from unexplained Presbyterian analysis.
There are many ministry leaders who speak of vision -
Their tone indicates that the laity is completely blind and numb;
their message is clear - the Body is not interested
to reach the Earth before Kingdom Come.
We are souls with great, untapped potential
and not just elements of an array.
Despite our abilities and life experiences,
our dreams and desires we're not allowed to convey.
For a failure of Church motivational tricks
comes from cramming God's People into a human matrix.
Author Notes:
From the book: Reaching Towards His Unbounded Glory
The ISBN is: 1-4196-5051-3
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2006, All rights reserved.
Nov 29, 2012
Nov 29, 2012 at 7:19 AM UTC
I have a friend who plays guitar
I've worked with thousands ... but none quite like him.
His chord choices, the melodies and the riffs that he plays
They can only come from within.
He's been out living as a big rock star
But that's not quite the world that you'd think.
It's a rugged, rough struggle of perseverance and passion
And your life flashes by in a blink.
He isn't a shredder as are many these days
Never cramming notes where they don't belong.
He is tasteful and creative, a sound so original
His strings envelop the songs.
He has no need to display some arrogant plumage.
He doesn't show off with any thousand-note solos.
He doesn't do intros that are way too long.
His moody style transcends virtuoso.
He is my friend and proven it so
Once guiding me through a valley of black.
Not with his music, although that helped.
He did so with his hand on my back.
A music teacher once told me that
"Music is the silence between notes".
If that is true, then his silence is golden
As I love every song that he's wrote.
So all you pickers, players and shredders
in garages or with gold albums on the wall.
Take a lesson, from this humble man
You needn't over play at all.
But don't think that he is timid or without some flair
Don't make boastful quips that you think are so witty.
If the mood and the moment strikes him just so
He can make that guitar sound like Godzilla destroying a city.
I am so proud to call him my "Brother"
Such a musician, such a friend.
His music and his camaraderie have both touched my soul
and I hope that neither see's end.
Mar 12, 2018
Mar 12, 2018 at 7:41 AM UTC
The dead trespass through my mind
They cave in skulls through forced lobotomy
They strap the population for lethal injection
They take lead fists to soft flesh
Claws to clean eyes
Stealing voices
Cutting out pink tongues
Cramming microphone down your throat
Can you hear me now
Hammers and clubs slam death home with every blow
Tonight we let the victims show
Apr 1, 2016
Apr 1, 2016 at 12:48 AM UTC
fingers surveying
prints scuttle
and
rill
; surface tips over dermis
shopping for a grip
a private tuck
or a filled skin to cup
warm and flushed bodies
digits cramming
under bodied clothings
with senses entire
in this distraction
heed is ceded
of public location
and the approach of the authorities
with toys
uniform
and ammunition
Mar 18, 2021
Mar 18, 2021 at 1:26 AM UTC
Whining about slushie stains, broken shoe strings, a cloudy tan date, a blender of crushed molding fruit and a couple of misplaced coupons dusty under the bookcase
I listen, I stay. I know I know-so awful, so unfair
Tuesday the tongue red Toms squished into the slip n' slide of a slow-paced coat on the run, splashing in the surprise and disgust but mostly drowning in the wrong point
I listen, I stay. I know I know-so foul, so raw
The pipes ooze liquid, weeping for a fix but the handyman's calloused fingertips were fired for not fitting the bill, mending the rip or driving the speed limit
I listen, I stay. I know I know-so frustrating, so disappointing
Saturday's overlap into Sunday was cramming lyrics and auto corrected notes into the bloated edge of a clicking lens snapping away, capturing a frenzy of wild memories and ibuprofen pills
I listen, I stay. I know I know- so entertaining, so amusing
Begging for top shelf truth, knee stretching for flexibility, pen scratching for a road deeper inland, holding, yearning for a meaningful entry to meaningfully look back on
I listen, I stay. I know I know- so vanished, so fragmented
Each night, the muffled light bulb all tucked into bed shamelessly stares crooked at the nightmares of an exhausted headboard wishing only to shed comfort instead of light
I listen, I stay. I know I know- so sorry, so sorry, so sorry I can't be more for you
May 27, 2012
May 27, 2012 at 7:32 PM UTC
A cup of London Fog warms
My frost bitten fingers
My toes curl tighter in my socks
Cramming together to stay warm
Sitting on the little window sill
A silent corner amidst the
Voices in conversation
And the shuffling of books and newspapers
My mind is like a messenger dove
Still perched on a branch
Waiting for the note it must deliver
But whose thoughts are already
Lost in what the flight will bring
My eyes stare out of the
Glass divide
The see-through division between
The snowy outside world
And the coffee’s home
Suddenly all freezes
The strolling people outside
With their snow caps and weathered coats
Are statues
Identical
With no emotion of their faces
All those who sit at the tables
Within the café’s warmth
With their books and computers
Dissolve to sand
I watch the slow extinction
Of society and friends
Movement and speech
My eyes
The only ones left unfrozen
My body
The only one left whole
Did they migrate to another world?
Did they realize their bodies weren’t really who they were?
But instead that they were particles apart of everything else.
Who knows?
Yes
I think
Who knows?
And
With my eyes unfrozen
My body whole
My toes cold
And a cup of London Fog in my hands
I take a sip
And contemplate
Nov 13, 2012
Nov 13, 2012 at 11:50 AM UTC
The afternoon was excessively humid
The earth seemed a seething hot furnace
Dark clouds were gathering overhead
Lightning drew florescent patterns in the sky
Thunder boomed and rumbled
A few sparse drops of water hit the window pane
The air grew dark, leaves shivered
Soon the rain pelted down in torrents
Drumming on the corrugated tin roofs
Spreading a dark curtain between the eye and the sky
It poured down in full fury for about an hour
In no time it flooded the ditches and hollows
But its might slackened and it vanished as quickly
As it had come, like a messenger on an urgent errand
The day was dying and I witnessed another rain
The rain of insects into the sequestered freedom of the night
Termites and white ants, sleeping in the hollows
Suddenly emerged from their lairs in thousands
Out of every crack and cranny, every fissure and hole
From under every boulder and brick
Winged termites emerged, fluttering about dreamily
Never knowing they were on their first and last flight
They all flew towards the bright light in the porch
But striking against the concrete ceiling
They fell down one by one, some losing their wings
And creeping on the floor, like wounded warriors
A quivering swarm of insects, a clumsily moving mass
This was the harvesting time for the geckos
In one and two, the lizards emerged from their hide
Flicking their tail, they stood ready for the catch
With their darting sticky tongue, they began
Devouring the insects, hastily cramming their stomachs
Until they could hold no more
When the insects began invading the inner space
I switched off all the lights and went to bed
The cool air and the sonorous but rhythmic chants of the frogs
Put my sleepy eyes into sound slumber
Early morning as I woke up
I saw the porch strewn with filmy wings of the termites
They lay like scattered chaff after the corn has been stored
Also some weak survivors, staggering to their end
I thought, to what bleak fate, the exodus of insects
Had taken off on their wings for their maiden flight!
Jun 10, 2016
Jun 10, 2016 at 7:51 AM UTC
Do you remember the day you said goodbye?
Did you cry your most heartfelt cry, and how much did it hurt?
Did it feel like the heavens came crashing down
and on their way to oblivion, they collided with your heart
and stole it away from you?
Stole it away like that indian giving sun,
and however racist it may be,
it's true.
Goodbyes, if properly done, should hurt
You should feel the pain of amputation,
for although it's not external,
it's a part of you removed, but somehow existing on its own.
Goodbyes, if properly done,
should leave you empty.
Empty like that candy *****
after you finished cramming down your last savory bite.
Goodbyes, if properly done,
should leave you yearning for the future.
They should drive you to return
to that thing that you so foolishly left behind.
But, goodbyes, if properly done,
should inspire you to grow.
They should inspire you to create something new,
something fulfilling.
Goodbyes need to be cherished,
and although they arnt the same as a newborn baby,
fragile, innocent and naive,
you should treat them all the same.
Goodbyes are special, unique,
and even though it's redundant to say,
they are one of a kind.
Goodbye's, if properly done,
should not be done
at all.
Jul 27, 2010
Jul 27, 2010 at 6:30 PM UTC
I thought when I realized what made me happy, what motivates me to work hard I could have peace.
Maybe it would make me better having this realization.
I pictured myself actually working hard and feeling motivated to something before 9 o'clock at night.
But then I didn't.
Why didn't I?
Why does it seem so hard for me?
It really isn't.
Finding out that I'm kind of just a disappointment because of my love for cramming my life with as much as I can didn't really help either.
I don't understand how it could be bad.
It just means I fill all that wasted time with not necessarily productive things, but certainly nothing bad.
Then, when I'm done at 9, it's productive time.
It's perfect!
for me...
But not so much when 9 o'clock doesn't roll around until breakfast or just before the bell rings.
And I guess not so much when I let them down, even though I still don't understand why.
Is that ignorance?
Like a puppy dragging mud through the house.
Never truly understanding why it's so bad cause he just went out to *** and came back in.
Only learning through the scolding looks and raised voices that he should avoid it, not because he agrees with his parents and thinks it's wrong.
It doesn't really even matter though.
The passion seems to be gone either way so why not cave in and learn to wipe my paws before I step in the door.
But I'm still searching.
My passion,
my motivation,
my strive,
they're all there just waiting,
waiting for me to find them.
So I keep searching.
I will find them.
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 11:51 PM UTC
Finals, studying, cramming.
My hand scratches more and more notes into the tiny margins of the page.
The clock turns to 1 AM, but I’m not done. I have to pass. I have to stay awake-
The alarm blares out 6:30.
Shower, get dressed, make myself somewhat presentable.
All in machine-like precision.
Period 2, my sweaty palms are wiped against my skirt, my leg shakes beneath the table.
Textbook passages flit across my mind as I stare at the first question.
And then it happens. I know the answer to the first problem. And to the second. And to the third.
I smile. It is the last day before a much-needed summer break.
Sign yearbook, pose for picture, repeat.
Life is good.
One day into break my mom comes past my room while on the phone. “We’ll see you in a week. Yeah, the girls really excited too.”
Confusion, then annoyance, then anger.
She forgot to tell me we’re going to see my grandparents. Again.
I later try to explain that we’re already seeing them for two weeks in August. Why go now?
She felt pressured, coerced, intimidated by my grandparents.
Don’t give in to peer pressure, Mother.
Summer continues.
Cousins, aunts, and uncles to see.
No time for friends or social interaction other than small talk and forced smiles.
I complain.
My sister calls me pathetic, mean, and selfish for wanting any time to myself.
I walk away.
Later, I turn to my mom. “Please can be go home?”
“Don’t be rude, sweetheart.
“Besides, we’ve got places to go and people to see.”
I really wanted to take some summer classes, get ahead in my education.
To my family, the concept is unknown, foreign, and queer.
It’s better I sit and not talk.
One week later, I beg my mom to take us home.
“Honey, they’re your family. You should be closer to them.
“Besides, we’ve got places to go and people to see.”
The summer continues much the same way.
I smile, I laugh, I nod at all the right times.
But inside I am miserable. I would much rather be at home reading by the creek.
And now that I am home I must bid you adieu,
For I have places to go and people to see.
Jun 3, 2010
Jun 3, 2010 at 8:58 PM UTC