There are only a few songs and poems that I feel like writing the lyrics to.
Happy birthday to you,
Happy birthday to you,
Happy birthday dear [insert name here],
Happy birthday to you
Life Is Tough
Life is tough--that's what they say,
But they don't know what it's like every day,
To wake up in the morning and go to school,
Just so people can test you and prove you're a fool.
The teacher says you obviously didn't try,
But they don't know you go to your room and cry.
You did put in effort, you did your part,
They just don't understand you're not that smart.
Then comes the pressure from your mum and dad,
Who are so clearly disappointed that your grades are bad.
You are punished and picked on for the rest of the year,
Because you finally gave up on the future career
That was once so close, but is now so distant,
However, your teachers and parents are still insistent.
It's hard enough getting up and going to class,
Without the pressure and expectation that you have to pass.
The worst part, however, is not that you're a disappointment,
It's the permanent, never ending embarrassment
Of always failing and coming last,
Of never being good enough, your confidence dropping fast.
Everyone else seems to be doing just fine,
Their parents are all proud, unlike mine.
Honestly, I can't think of a worse place than this,
When in reality it's made out to be somewhere we should miss.
I won't miss it, I'll be glad to leave,
Five years wasted because failure is all I ever received.
I know it's my fault and that I'm the one to blame.
I gave up so early on because I was ashamed.
To my family I'm a failure, and I'm a failure to myself,
Everyone's high expectations only damaged my metal health.
If I ever have kids I will always try
To make sure the fear of failure
is not the reason they ever cry.
People need to understand school's no longer fun or good,
'Cause some of us don't fit in, although we wish we could.
The Kid In The Back Of The Class
The kids pointed and the kids laughed at the young man that sat in the back of the class. The one with his head down to conceal his lost frown, the one whose face of confusion led to all the student's intrusion. Him feeling miserable was the children's desire they most enjoyed teasing him of his attire. From the clothing he would wear to the weird styles of his hair. As the children ridiculed him and called him names the young man hid his face in great shame. What was he to do when it was one vs. all? Cause he knew what they'd do when they found him in the hall. The bruises on his skin were not punishments from his own sins. But they were the cruelty for his differences, and the consequence of his existence. It was midday the next day when the school went under attack the students inside had no time to react. Everything was happening all so fast and it all started right after that first blast. Loud gunshots filled every hall and blood was splattered all over every wall. For thirty long minutes the rampage went on until it finally ended with the death of the con. When it was all over, reporters flooded the scene, and asked everyone around what they had seen. Students said they never saw the man they said as soon as they heard the guns, they all just ran Days later the school was still full of broken glass but that didn't stop students from returning to class. When class had started the students placed, under their desks, their feet. and they all turned around to notice in the back that there was one empty seat...
T.S. Eliot once said:
Poetry may make us from time to time a little more aware of the deeper, unnamed feelings which form the substratum of our being, to which we rarely penetrate; for our lives are mostly a constant evasion of ourselves.