Sometimes I think highschool is one big long hazy activity: if you are tough enough to survive this, they'll let you become an adult. It all is just a sharp check mark in the roll book, an obnoxious tuba playing at noon. The teachers are too close to dying to understand this. To understand any of it. The hallways stink of poor grades and unwashed hair. I breathe in slowly. The heavy air sticking to my lungs like glue. I exhale, take another breath. School is life. Algebra is life.
No, I am never setting foot in this building again. It scares me, and makes me sad. And I wish I could accept this disappointment but I don't think I can. Everything is still and frozen. Twigs and black leaves crack under our shoes, and our breath rises in solid white puffs. We tilt our heads back and open wide. The snow drifts into our zombie mouths, crawling with grease, and tabacco flakes, and cavities, and boy friend/girl friend juice, the stain of lies. And for one moment we are not failed tests and broken condoms and cheating on essays; we are crayons, and lunch boxes, and swinging so high our shoes punch holes in the clouds. For one breath everything feels better. Then it melts. The bus drivers rev their engines, and the ice cloud shatters. Everyone shuffles forward. They don't know what just happened. They can't remember. I turn my music on full volume. To block the sound of curse words under our breaths, to forget the whispers curling inside of my head that call me ugly, and stupid, and the worst, "a disappointment". I have a theory that Ron Pope's songs have the answers to all of lifes deepest questions. My ears bleed, my head is throbbing, but today, I don't mind.
Play on; pain on.
I hope all of this is worth it.