Its hard not feel like a cow.

Trapped, packed in by the dozens, herded through the halls

But with bells to worry about; they don't use prods anymore.

Squeezed through the door, shoved my way to my designated area.

I look over the thirty heads of cattle just like me,

The Drover stands at the head of the room, she looks tired

I bet she wishes she didn't have so many cows to look after.

Her tired voice lulls me, I try to pay attention, my grade depends on it.

Grades are important to cattle like me.

We all know what happens to cows who fall behind

They stay cows

They become the kibble of society

Everyone feeds off of their failures

The herd turns on them.

I don't want to be a cow anymore.

There's far to many of them.


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