Survival used to be a game;

The Hunger Games,

but now it’s pretty lame,

because it’s real with it’s constant pains.

‘Cause everyone else is friends

and you’re just the nerd,

and everything just depends

on what stone hit which bird.

Confusing, isn’t it?

But that’s just school for you

You’re going to be hit,

but never forget to be improved; new.

Survival is school,

boring to the skull.

But you’ll learn the opposite of cool

and the synonym of dull.

Depression leaks in.

Someone asked what happened,

Well where do I begin?

My dreams have been flattened.

People claim they’re your friends,

but I don’t see them anymore.

They left me for trends,

and I’m left to settle a war.

Socially, I’m anxious,

and people starting asking questions.

“Why are you thankless?

it’s just a suggestion!”

My heart beats in my throat,

clawing it’s way up higher and higher.

Really? Now’s the time to gloat?

My head is on fire.

“You’re poetry is confusing!

It makes no sense!”

That’s almost amusing,

you think I’ll take offense?

My brain is overworked,

so leave me be.

Why can’t the years be reversed?

I know I’m goofy and silly.

Even during the summer,

freaking out is my thing.

What happens when the ultimate bummer

comes back in the swing?

To go to school,

you need to be able to survive,

you see, by being cool

and going along with lies.

[what was this poem??]