A thin slice of wood cut from trees; call it paper

People choose college over wide ruled

Some say that college widely rules

But I’m not a witness of that

I’m still in high school.

Surrounded by a bunch of papers

I push it all to the side saying I’ll do it later

Watching the clock tick-tock minutes and hours

Knock out--snore

Wound up having my nose stuck into piles of bore.

Seems like people call it homework because it’s a chore

My eyes, hands, and brain are sore

If I stop my grades will take a fall,

And maybe I will too; into a puddle of my tears.

Sad truth, homework defines me

The amount I’ve learned poured onto this sheet

Marked by A, B, or C

These late nights, thinking and thinking

I find myself looking for my Ys

Why do I continue?

Raising my expectations two times higher,

I extend my arm attempting to reach them,

I jump trying to reach them,

I bring stools to reach them,

I made them too high and

Made myself a fool.

The despair brings me back to reality,

I don’t need Claritin, to see that it’s clear that

I’m trapped in my own mind with overwhelming pressure,

To seize success.

I take a deep breath and I reflect:

Minus the worksheets, what’s left?

Free time.

That time simply doesn’t get me anywhere,

But the thoughts of hopelessness and failure.

I bury the feeling of hopefulness.

I look back at the mountain of work.

I have to get back to the work.

No. I want to get back to it.

For myself, my family, and my future.