Back to the Grind

Something that has always seemed so natural
to me, as an apiring bookworm
now leaves me trembling in fear,
in uncertainty.

I am twenty-three,
and once again, 
I find myself and my wallet
burdened
under heavy textbooks
that I've only needed
for that one paragraph
on page thirty-seven.

I have a neat stack of notes,
tattoo'd in highlighter yellow
last minute scribbles in the margin
as Professor says,
"this will be on the exam."

I never thought 
I would be back here,
in the classroom,
with my nose stuck in a book,
my tongue lost in technical talk

but here I am,
back to the grind, 
working to get my hands
around a diploma
to catapult me towards success. 

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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