"scholarships" poems
Sometimes we wish
We were Americans
We would have aced the Spelling B's
Been athletes on scholarships
Or won beauty pageants
Our institutions would compete
And we would win prizes
For accomplishments
If we were Americans
We would thrive with competition
We would live the American Dream
And be rich and famous
I just know it
Sometimes we just wish
Our Scandinavian system favoured people with our talents
Our lack of compromise
More
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 7:31 AM UTC
Before I moved to New Mexico
I never thought that I deserved to be in college
Because In California I got bad grades, skipped classes,
Didn’t care about my life and played the victim in high school
Now I’m pursing an Associates and a Bachelor’s Degree
In Liberal art, education and creative writing
I wasn’t sure if I had what it takes to lean on God’s faith
To complete my classes and do well
In that secondary education knowledge
I but I passed my summer with a B+
In my life I’m known to be late for everything I attend
Yeah I was always on that black people time
Waking up at 4:00 am to get ready, eat
And also catch the bus to a summer class
That starts at 8:30am and ends 12:50pm
Every Friday for 3 months was difficult
But I learned to make sacrifices and
I never missed a day of class
I had a bad habit of being a procrastinating excuse maker
But I was tired of wasting time,
I hated proving people right about me
I was tired of my family treating me
Like I was a burden on them
And having haters trying to destroy my spirit
So I could do what they want me to do
So I pushed passed the negativity and I never fell behind
I’d never had a scholarship before
But my first year in Central New Mexico Community College
I received 2 scholarships and I’m going for another one
My mentor used to tell repeatedly
That anything in life that’s worthwhile takes hard work
So try, when it doesn’t work try again and
When you feel like giving up, try even harder
Because a man has no excuses, rich or poor
Now I know 100% that anything is possible with God
And a lot of effort on my part
So I won’t ever quit, I’ll stay motivated and hungry till I have nothing left
Because I’d rather die trying my best than live with regrets.
By Shannon Pollard
©Summer 2012
Oct 10, 2012
Oct 10, 2012 at 8:19 PM UTC
In outer space, there are 10 particular stars that are the brightest. They are part of important constellations that people search for their whole life by name. The brightest star is Sirius, because of its magnitude.
You are my Sirius.
I searched and searched and searched millions of constellations, looking for the brightest star and I found you.
I am like the regular stars of the universe which do not contain such a spectacular magnitude and would never be able to reach the superiority of Sirius.
You Sirius, are the kind of boy someone would write a book or produce a movie about, because you are literally a star.
At least ten girls in school admire you because of your magnitude and your being, and maybe they sit there and write about you too.
I've been searching for you my whole life and here you are in front of me, for at least two hours of a day.
I don't know what to do now that you're so close and I don't want to ***** up. I wish my intelligence could be enough for you, but Sirius, you are the brightest of them all, and there are brighter stars out there that admire you.
there are less skinny,less lankier stars that stare at you
there are more brilliant, smarter stars that yearn for you
there are stars that don't laugh like an asthmatic,
there are stars that have themselves in order and know where they are going and what scholarships they will receive because of their brilliance.
man, i may be the most annoying, stick skinny, unintelligent, asthmatic star out there, but at least i perceive you as my Sirius. no other star sees you brighter than how blindingly bright i see you.
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 8:27 PM UTC
I was strong.
I was strong when my preschool teacher told me that I was never going to be an artist because I wasn't talented enough.
I was strong when I told my first crush that I liked him and he told me he would never like someone like me because I was fat and ugly.
I was strong as I was bullied severely for 6 years in elementary school.
I was strong when a kid wrapped swing chains around my neck and tried to choke me.
I was strong when I was told by the school counselor that no one would ever want to be my friend in middle school.
I was strong when on the first day of junior high I was pushed off of the risers and onto the floor by fellow classmates.
I was strong when my parents got a divorce.
I was strong when I had my first panic attack.
I was strong after I attempted suicide.
I was strong when I was officially diagnosed with anxiety and depression.
I was strong when my father kicked me out.
I was strong when my brother beat me in my car.
I was strong when I had to act as hospice care for one of my grandfathers.
I was strong when my grandfathers died.
I was strong when my dad's wife tried to convince me that I was worthless and unworthy of love.
I was strong when my entire family abandoned me fight over only my brother in a custody battle.
I was strong when I failed my first class ever and almost lost all of my scholarships.
I was strong when my mom told me "whatever" when she was mad and I talked about killing myself.
I was strong when I wanted to drop out of college and relapse into my suicidal thoughts.
If I can be strong through all of that, I can be strong again.
I am strong.
Even if I don't always feel that way.
Sep 18, 2017
Sep 18, 2017 at 10:33 PM UTC
This town is too small for secrets
The sidewalks are adorned with names and dates
Of couples whose love dissolved twenty years ago
While moss oozes out of the letters.
This town is too small for secrets
Through windows at night
The citizens play out their dollhouse lives
And dysfunction is locked away in grandmother’s armoire.
This town is too small for secrets
Where bars close at seven in the morning and open an hour later
And the tenders are purveyors of free psychiatry
Who put advice in bowls between stale peanuts
And place them on the counter.
This town is too small for secrets
Every hour the two churches compete for the loudest bells
But the protestant one always wins
And the Catholics having mass ignore its pleading voice
But whisper politely in each other’s ears
About the scandalous protestors out on Main.
This town is too small for secrets
With its coffee shops littered with youth
Who deny their wealth through coffee steam
And discuss the state of countries they can’t place on a map
And slowly leach out in to the frigid rain
Back to new cars and million-dollar homes
Where daddy pays the bills.
This town is too small for secrets
The college students drink their scholarships in red plastic cups
And scuttle towards their shared flats
Collapse in to bed too tired to sleep
Stare at the ceiling and wonder why they didn’t transfer
Three semesters ago.
This town is too small for secrets
With its gated communities of retirees
Where the homes are manufactured
And the walls papered with the smiling faces of clean-cut grandchildren
And the rebellious ones packed away
From the neighborhood gossip’s prying eyes.
Nov 30, 2013
Nov 30, 2013 at 7:59 PM UTC
Sine waves, perpetual motion
Centripetal force, density of the ocean
Associates, Bachelors
Student Ambassadors
Register, register, schedules, grades
Grants and scholarships, tuition is paid
No snooze button, turn off the alarm
Losing some sleep. It's ok, though, no harm
Friendly teachers and **** instructors
Digital logic and semiconductors
Homework, classwork, essays, papers
Last minute class of procrastinators
Get up, get blazed. 'Fore school, 'nutha blunt
High while accepting student of the month
Higher than you, and my grades, too, are higher
How smart would I be if I put out the fire?
Gen. Ed., English, Mathematics, Psychology
Now on to the good stuff, much richer chronology
Top of my class, highest grade in the program
In just a few years, I'll have money in BOTH hands
This hand-to-mouth **** ain't for me
I'm tired of living week-to-week
Broke, tired, and hungry day after day
But when payday comes, it'll be here to stay
You don't have to do as I do
But my feet are too small to fill these big shoes
If you think I can't fill them, then surely you're trippin'
But do whatcha do, cause my burgers need flippin'
Nov 24, 2010
Nov 24, 2010 at 7:51 PM UTC
College applications are done
Acceptance acceptance... acceptance
Fill out forms
You're in, that's good
Recommendation letters
A b r e e z e
But oh dear.
Scholarships.
They need what now?
SS what's that Number again?
AndohmyGodifIhavetowritemyname
O N E M O R E T I M E
You have my email!
Address upon address,
didn't I just look at this?
IT DIDN'T SAVE.
Start again.
Breathe.
College will be
as the applications.
Easy?
Jan 30, 2017
Jan 30, 2017 at 6:42 PM UTC
The next time you want to ban
brown skin from your white land ,
consider the crimson floods spilt
on burnt clay from red flesh.
You want brownfolk in this country
like we wanted pox in our quilts.
As our history is ripped to tattered patches
and replaced by a white silken sheet.
But this is the land of the free
and this is the home of the brave.
And when I say brave
I don't mean that caricature
drawn on the front of a baseball jersey,
with buck teeth,
a bird feather
and a tomahawk motion.
I mean the brave souls
that took a last stand
against the Custers
and the Mayflowers
and colonial white powers.
I mean the Sitting Bulls and Geronimos
who’s histories are rewritten
in Old Spaghetti Westerns.
Where John Wayne is always the hero,
and our people aren’t even cast
to play our own roles.
Hollywood won't stoop to blackface
but red face is PC.
Perfect Aryan models advertise American Apparel,
one authentic-looking headdress
and fifty-dollar native design
crop top tank tops
are like spoils to the victor.
It's enough to make one sick.
This is America,
where they steal your culture
and sell it back to you
at ten times the price.
Those faux hide moccasins,
**** on old tradition,
turn centuries old struggle
into a fashion faux-pas.
I once had a conversation with a girl
whose skin was made of privilege.
She said, ”I thought Native Americans
wanted to live on reservations..?”
Let that resonate. Repeat.
as if we were getting a room
at the Four Seasons.
It was called the trail of tears
not the trail of whimsical wonder.
But in this white washed world
invasion is called settling
genocide is industry
and poverty is tax-free.
Our heritage is endangered,
our veins are booze-diluted
but at least we have those scholarships
which, I suppose, we’ll use
to cram our brains
with a history
that never belonged to us.
Perhaps, all of those centuries ago,
we should have thought to build a wall,
you know, to keep the immigrants out.
We could have stood at the border
with picket signs of self-deluded righteousness
lungs filled with hate
for a different colored human
shouting, "Go home, Alien,
your dreams are illegal here!"
Sep 10, 2013
Sep 10, 2013 at 9:42 AM UTC
I lost the pounds.
I dyed my hair blonde.
I joined the volleyball team.
I stopped wasting my time at church.
I gave away my virginity to the first guy who asked for it.
I dropped all of my AP classes.
I created a Facebook account.
I started wearing different clothes.
I swapped out my lame friends for a new set of popular and pretty friends.
Do I feel better?
Of course I do!
Well...
Sort of...
I mean,
Yeah, I lost my college scholarships.
Yeah, I hate my new friends.
Yeah, I'm not going to graduate on time.
Yeah, I'm stuck with a kid that I'm not ready for.
Yeah, I have to live on the streets.
Yeah, I hate my job.
Yeah, I've lost everything that's dear to me,
But...
I should be happy, right?
People said that I needed to change,
So that's what I did.
I was sick of hearing that I could be better...
Sick of hearing that I was too innocent for life.
So,
I took matters into my own hands.
I gave in.
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 11:26 PM UTC
i never bought the whole dark academia thing.
sure, ****** and drugs and *** are torrid and dark when you're from a rich family,
when you've never woken up to the news of your childhood best friend being shot to death,
when you haven't seen your family and friends fall into the seductive cesspool of opioid addiction,
when half of your class was pregnant by the time senior year rolled around.
the academic upper class thinks what working class kids go through is sexier when the backdrop of the overdose is chandeliers and silk,
instead of a small town parking lot at 3am.
my aesthetic reality of academia is scholarships, it's leather jackets and nicotine addictions
it's having the only fifteen-year-old car in the campus parking lot and hoping to find a plug before the first week of classes.
it's not sleeping between work and class and partying. it's being the only one whose dad isn't buddies with the guy giving me an internship.
it's lonely. it's the crippling loneliness of not understanding upper class social cues,
it's reading crime and punishment in the slivers of time between work and work and class and more work
and emphasizing with raskalnikov so much it makes your teeth ache.
it's coughing up blood.
it's having health insurance for the first time in college and still not using it.
it's drowning, it's fighting, it's violent and heroic and painful and
never knowing
if you'll actually
make it.
Jul 30, 2020
Jul 30, 2020 at 8:33 PM UTC
Women like
the skyscraper
He's cultured
so dapper
And on paper how
we perceive things
it goes along
way too print
His hands showing
nakedly walks of hints
He's up to stunts
Whose the one to blame
What credibility made
you want an
old flame
Or to write like you
never danced
nakedly before
Feeling lost after the glow
graveyard shift hours slow
Her body like the naked
breeze air show
Ever Sunday brunch
Was divinity like
Velvet
Naked but it
never shines
In Philadelphia
The College boy
Alpha he loved Rina
Moaning for Lisa
Those Scholarships
And his lady
Left stains on his
white collar
Business trips
The fantasy-scape
Like the ship of her
naked tip nail's
Going to the
****** Islands sail
He got the writer
all roped into him
Like her poem was
his script let it arrive
with him
And their words
Were like no other trip
Admiration another naked
talk vacation
But in reality, they weren't
naked to be fantasied
To contemplate is
this really
Our time for fate
The temptation is
always there
Like the cross leg road
He's the intersection
My mind is inside all
his fragments
To meet our perception
Like a writer's block
Goes a long way
to anyone
Reaction
The kiss lipstick color beyond naked
Fit so well French Connection
Language goes beyond
anyone that is naked
Salacious, Delicious,
Ambitious, Notorious
Amourous, naked generous
Without being naked
Delirious
Golden naked mounds
He groans and it's
quite normal
to be yourself and growl
like Wolf or a Fox
She's the Triscuit
He loves his Southern
tasting biscuits
He puts his suit on
Dash of pepper
and salt
Are the stars at fault
Over his shoulder
He wraps her around
She felt a freeze
Wanting to hear the
naked truth
She was his cherry
He played his basketball dunk
Her naked cream
The naked writer
in between got drunk
Her leg crosses and
He's the tie being
crossed she was in
her flip flops
The writer kept her heart
of his message with
cute pups
Well the naked writer
received An unusual box
and she was naked LOL
Jun 17, 2018
Jun 17, 2018 at 12:09 PM UTC
Jean Bartel, born Jean Bartlemeh;
on October 26, 1923 & died March 6, 2011;
Miss California and Miss America 1943;
She won the talent and swimsuit awards
at the national pageant. At 5 feet 8 inches tall,
Bartel was the tallest winner up to that time;
Jean Bartel was the first college student
to win the title of Miss America & after
visiting her sorority sisters in Kappa Kappa Gamma
around the country, she developed the idea
of awarding scholarships to those who competed;
The Miss America Organization is now
the world's largest provider of scholarships
for women in the world;
Bartel worked for many years on Broadway
and in television, including starring in her own
travel series, It's a Woman's World, as well as
performing for seven months in South America;
She appeared in an episode of The Love Boat
in 1984, w/ Marian McKnight,
Miss America, 1957;
Nancy Fleming,
Miss America, 1961;
& Vanessa Williams,
Miss America, 1984.
Bartel died in Brentwood, California,
on March 6, 2011, aged 87; The Miss America
Organization issuing a statement calling her
"one of our most beloved Miss Americas"
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 5:19 PM UTC
On the First day of Xmas, my Dem Rep gave to me
A transwoman in her skiv-vies.
On the second day of Xmas, my Dem Rep gave to me
Two fake ******* and a transwoman in her skivvies.
On the third day of Xmas, my Dep Rep gave to me
No women’s sports teams, two fake ******* and a transwoman in her skivvies.
On the fourth day of Xmas, my Dep Rep gave to me,
Four phalloplasties, no women’s sports teams, two fake ******* and a transwoman in her skivvies.
On the fifth day of Xmas, my Dem Rep gave to me
Five preg-nant men! Four phalloplasties, no women’s sports teams, two fake ******* and a transwoman in her skivvies.
On the sixth day of Xmas, my Dem Rep gave to me,
Six double mastectomies, five preg-nant men! Four phalloplasties, no women’s sports team, two fake ******* and a transwoman in her skivvies.
On the seventh day of Xmas, my Dem Rep gave to me,
Seven teens with breast binders, six double mastectomies, five preg-nant men! Four phalloplasties, no women’s sports teams, two fake ******* and a transwoman in her skivvies.
On the eighth day of Xmas, my Dem Rep gave to me,
Eight cheater’s trophies, seven teens with breast binders, six double mastectomies, five preg-nant men! Four phalloplasties, no women’s sports teams, two fake ******* and a transwoman in her skiv-vies.
On the ninth day of Xmas, my Dem Rep gave to me,
nine pharma lobbyists, eight cheaters’ trophies, seven teens with breast binders, six double mastectomies, five preg-nant men! Four phalloplasties, no women’s sports teams, two all gender locker rooms, and a transwoman in her skiv-vies.
On the 10th day of Xmas, my Dem Rep gave to me
10 years of electrolysis, nine pharma lobbyists, eight cheaters’ trophies, seven teens with breast binders, six double mastectomies, five preg-nant men! Four phalloplasties, no women’s sports teams, two all gender locker rooms and a transwoman in her skivvies.
On the 11th day of Xmas, my Dem Rep gave to me
11 lost scholarships, 10 years of electrolysis, nine pharma lobbyists, eight cheaters' trophies, seven teens with breast binders, six double mastectomies, five preg-nant men! Four phalloplasties, no women's sports teams, two all gender locker rooms and a transwoman in her skiv-vies!
On the 12th day of Xmas my Dem Rep gave to me,
12 preferred pronouns, 11 lost scholarships, 10 years of electrolysis, nine pharma lobbyists, eight cheaters' trophies, seven teens with breast binders, six double mastectomies, five preg-nant ment! Four phalloplasties, no women's sports teams, two all gender locker rooms and a transwoman in her skiv-vies!
Dec 20, 2019
Dec 20, 2019 at 9:22 PM UTC
i am sixteen
and my future lies
in my hands but its
being pulled and tugged at
by things like
scholarships
leadership positions
GPA
not such a straight path now, is it
i am sixteen
and discovering a new joy
stumbling upon
the passion you were always meant
to find
leaving the stagnant
for the bold and burning and enchanted
shows a lack of dedication
so i sit in my lovely self-made cage
round and round on the merry-go-round
i wonder where it will spit me out?
we are sixteen
and the gloves and
the stiff lips have failed to take note of
our dear fickle hearts
and the immense courage with we run
the scorched
shadowy dreams in our eyes
that cannot be discovered in the time it takes
to find a prom date
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 9:38 PM UTC
you're scared. you're scared of a lot of things. you're scared of people seeing through you. "oh my god, you're gay?" you're scared of going to sleep and waking up to the news that your sick mother took her last breath while you were having nightmares about her dying. that's funny. having nightmares and waking up to the exact same nightmare coming true. you're also scared of falling out of love. but you're not scared of your lover leaving you, no, because pain, that you're accustomed to, but guilt? not really.
you're scared. you're scared of running out of time. everywhere you look, people are doing better than you. they have scholarships, they're going places. you're still here, and you're scared that you'll always be here. what would they say when they get back? "poor fellow can't afford further education. how do you get a job?"
you're scared. your hands are shaking. people are trying hard to be your friend, but you know you can't be a good one. you've lost a couple of them. you say the wrong things once in a while but as far as you're concerned, once in a while is enough. boom. disaster. everything which comes out of your mouth is like a ticking bomb, waiting for someone to find a fault in it and figure out that you're not actually as nice as you pretend to be.
you're scared. you feel like you're keeping secrets, but you can't seem to entangle your own thoughts to know what they are. you feel anxious around people you see as being far superior than you are, so you end up hating them. you also feel anxious around people you can see yourself in, so you end up hating them too. they sit next to you at a table and your heart beats fast, your palms turn sweaty, you just want to get out of here. why do you not like these people? is it because they're different from you? is it because you want to be them?
you're scared. you're scared of revealing your sins, of being burned at the stake, or in terms of the 21st century, shunned by the society. you're scared of looking at the rorshach ink blot. you're scared of describing what you see to your psychiatrist. you imagine your psychiatrist thinking, 'holy **** this patient is ****** up.' you imagine avoiding eye contact with everyone in your pool of contacts, and you're afraid that pool might slowly **** your family in too. you're not diagnosed with anxiety, but you might as well be.
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 2:39 AM UTC
The distance between what we say and what we mean
The difference between what I need you to hear
And what you hear when I speak
Between what you need and what you say
That's the place where it hurts
That's the place where love turns into poison
And weapons
It should be so simple because I'm your little girl and you're my Dad
Who took me for walks on railroad tracks
And let me bring home every rock that I thought was special
You filled your pockets with them, you never told me they were just quartz
You read me stories and had a pickup truck named Betsy
Who couldn't drive past an ice cream shop without stopping because she was special too
You took me camping and swimming and hiking
(I canoe, canoe canoe?)
And played the Grateful Dead
You were so good at being a Dad
I remember you sitting me down and telling me that I'd always be your number one
That you would love me no matter what I did
I was just a kid
And I believed
But I grew up
And you got older and scareder and sadder
Things got a lot harder
I stopped being little, stopped being a piece of you
That must have hurt
Because you forgot your promise
You built a world of expectations and as it grew
So did the distance between you, and the good in you
You can be so mean
And the worst part is that I feel guilty for being mad at you
Because I know that you're just scared
Really really scared
I understand
I do
It's terrifying to love things that are not you
What if they leave?
What if they hurt you?
What if they don't love you enough?
Or the way that you want them to?
It's hard to have faith
Especially if you're not used to faith being had in you
But can't you see how much weight your fears put on me?
I wish you had faith in me
I wish you saw my good intentions
And respected me for my strengths
I wish I could be who I am around you
I am smart and opinionated and unafraid
I think critically and see the best in people
But those are the things in me that you seem to hate
I never thought it could hurt so much to feel disliked
It brings out the worst in me
So I hide
Because it is impossible to take care of both of us at the same time
If I take care of myself, it hurts you
If I take care of you, it hurts me
When we talk you ask me about money
And school
And money
And my future plans
And money
Have I called the dentist?
Done my taxes?
Applied for scholarships?
None of those things have any bearing on me
We haven't talked for months
I'm not going to call you and say that I'm sorry
I'm so sorry, but not for the reasons you think I should be
I'm sorry we can't just talk
I'm sorry it's hard for us to be around each other
I'm sorry we resent each other
I'm sorry that I miss you so much, but am so afraid to talk to you
I don't want to be scared of you
I'm sorry that there is a room in my head that holds memories of you lashing out at me
I just want you to remember that you love me
If you could remember that and let go of everything else
I would call
That's a promise
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 7:44 PM UTC
Kids with guns
playing hostage outside
my kitchen window
trapping their sister in the chicken coop
behind the tenement house
Kids with funds
riding scholarships to Harvard
saying someday I’ll be the one
who pushes that little red button
Kids with needles
saying at the end of all this
I will wine and dine the devil
to persist my own mess
they go off so silently
we all turn to memory
and fade to the black flickering
insides of eyelids and run out film reels
the bottom of oceans and the bedrock of glaciers
the whole earth will hum for half a second
before the next bang hits
Dec 4, 2012
Dec 4, 2012 at 12:50 PM UTC
I never planned to drop out of high school
but I never planned on wanting to **** myself either
so that’s just how it goes
And now I’m in college a year early
and I’m watching everyone around me getting into
serious relationships and having babies
and actually graduating with full scholarships to real universities
and moving in together like real grown people starting real lives
and here I am still missing you
still going to counseling every week
and failing my second semester worse than the first
here I am having to consider if going to a
mental hospital for 6 months is really the only thing ive got left
my mother says when I get out I could really start my life
you know, have real relationships
and not do drugs or have promiscuous ***
but what does she really even know about that
am I about to find out why the caged bird sings?
I turn eighteen in a little over 7 months
and I really don’t want to spend the time leading up to that
having a prescribed time to eat
and take my medication
and when to go to sleep
this isn’t how life is supposed to be
people say it isn’t easy
but killing yourself is seen as cowardly
well, we didn’t even have a choice of whether we wanted life or not
we were just put here because we won the race
so don’t talk to me about cowardice
Mar 1, 2014
Mar 1, 2014 at 10:50 AM UTC
So it's Thursday morning
I'm lying on my bed
And with my phone between my hands
I try to get a new high score on the new game
You know the one- that one with a bird?
Yeah, that one.
My carpet is completely covered
In confetti of various shapes and sizes
Different colours, different smells
I really need to vacuum
But I'm comfortable right here
Oh look! One hundred points already!
Mom keeps telling me to get a job
Her reminders are like *****
Never ending and numbing my brain
But I'm comfortable laying on my bed
Woah, one hour gone already!
Where does time go?
So is it true that everything came from nothing
That there was one massive explosion?
Did someone put us all here
Like the universe is one big jigsaw?
Five hundred points!
I'm getting good at this.
I wonder what my old schoolmates are doing
I heard some got scholarships in America
A couple went to university
While a bunch are in prison
A thousand points!
I should tweet about this.
The church bell in the distance strikes twelve
I wonder what I am doing here
I feel like my life is like a pencil without lead
Where am I going?
Dang! Game over. Oh well, I'll try again later.
My phone's out of battery.
I see the pile of college assignments on my desk
I get up and go make lunch.
Jul 18, 2015
Jul 18, 2015 at 10:34 AM UTC
I’m a fresh out of high school, freshman, at college.
I got scholarships and grants,
So to my mind I pay homage.
It’s granted that I’m a scholar,
Ready for the next look.
Made my way to school, no cash for textbooks,
I can work my way around that,
But that was only the beginning,
Then my mind got caught up in the time I was spending.
Mood started dropping in the letters I was sending,
Moms got worried cause my grades started slipping,
And matters got worst when my girl started tripping,
Couple trips to my home,
Family matters rise,
School coming to an end,
Stress at an all time high.
First summer out of college I get guns to my brain,
Out of school and in the city, the drama remains.
They never pulled the trigger
But my hood still shooting for me.
My problems getting bigger,
But my mom still rooting for me.
So I got to keep fighting,
With the dark truths you threw before me.
I stand in this line to success,
And everyone getting through before me.
I’m not making excuses;
I’m just trying to tell you the story.
I wouldn’t say I lost my way
Rather my way lost me,
So I have to change my ways,
Because losing is costly.
I refuse to be lost just as I refuse to lose,
I was just misplaced,
Just as you do a pair of shoes,
But I found where I was,
And I’m ready to move.
I am not a college dropout,
Just fell really hard,
I did fail some classes but won’t be classified as a failure.
I just failed to recognize seriousness of my decline,
Decided on readmission and I’ll admit I was denied.
My past had a grasp that was too hard to shake,
And it’s still trying to grab me back to that mental state.
Hood mentality, but I won’t diverge from my reality.
I will not return to the state of mind
That tries to keep me down.
Memories will be the keepsake,
That state tried to beat me down.
You think I climbed in this position only to drop out?
The only thing I’m dropping is bad habits
And regretted mistakes,
All of which are trying to block my escape.
I just want to leave the past in the past,
And just pass every class
That’s thrown in my face.
I will deny anyone or anything that states…
“I have to face the fact that failure is my fate.”
Oct 2, 2010
Oct 2, 2010 at 12:11 AM UTC
You can hear the voices of our peers
Being silenced, ignored, shunned and distorted.
Staggering out of their bedroom doorways
To the street corner to score a dime bag.
Bright, insightful kandi kids freezing
In search of warmth from something to believe in
Hopin’ those will encourage them
To look forward to see another day.
Where our economy has made financial prudence clear
The price tag of university tuition’s skyrocket
The refused, the ones with hope
But no money or scholarships;
Tread the streets
With the echoes of electro-house
Pulsing in their skulls.
Those who strip themselves down
And shred their own morals
To scraps just to find themselves
And to see their own limitations.
Searching for answers to the unknown,
To ascertain what they are,
Who they are and why.
The bewilderment of adulthood,
The abundance of pressure and responsibility.
Awakened from nightmares of lost opportunities,
Missed trains and lost contacts.
Everything went astray
But hope crash in
They wear the armour
Facing the giants of their lives
They conquered
Became champions of this new generation!
(3/13/14 @xirlleelang)
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 12:39 AM UTC
I always thought I was special
At least that's what I was told
The burden of expectations brought me down
I compare myself to others
Probably too much, but I look at what they have
Scholarships for art, music, sports, science
I'm none of those
My pen and paper are tucked away
My painting wasn't a Mona Lisa smiling
Nor was it an exact replica of the London Bridge made out of toothpicks
I sat in the back trying to figure out what note came next
I asked the teacher to tune my own violin
I sat out of most games and was told constantly that I would play in the game
More of a waiting game
I would see how warm and dry I could keep a bench
What talents did I have?
Well society told me I had none
I can make people happy but also annoy them in the same process
Trying to keep up with today and tomorrow
Buying coffee so that they would see past my flaws
I'm still searching for that talent that I can be know for.
Apr 15, 2013
Apr 15, 2013 at 12:46 AM UTC
The Thought of growing older to become nothing.
The embarrassment of failure even when you try something.
Something to make it in life, become a "big shot".
You think you pass, you've made great effort, but you're taken back.
The fear of failure itself allows you to fail.
Being laughed at in the end, no longer head but tail.
There was a time I use to be head,
but now all that's dead.
They lied! They lied! TRY TRY and SUCCEED.
Scholarships, Ivy League, rich, fast cars, to which I feed,
My mind on to be,
They lied, no chance for me.
I've been trying for a long time, Failed me yet.
I study really hard, feel good, still fail? I don't get.
An Ivy League School was where I placed by bet.
but now it seems like there're change of plans, no cars, no money, no fast jet.
I make it known to everyone, my friends and family from now.
If i end up on the road side, no education, and eat with cows.
For education and a life worth living cannot be bought.
I tend to take action of my suicidal thought.
IF FEELING DEPRESSED AFTER READING THIS POEM ,PLEASE ENSURE TO READ http://perfecttruths.blogspot.com/2014/03/a-word-from-wise.html
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 7:51 AM UTC