On the opposite end of
a look that could spill blood
if given the proper equipment
I stalk off to class and bask
in the damage I could do if I knew
how to walk through this world’s walls

I take my seat
behind the scum of the suburbs
and blend in with the tasteless paint
I know would peel at my silent scream

I glance around and realize
that things could be much worse-
and they will.

Look at them, they’re me
and they’d sooner throw
us all beneath the bus before they’d
give me an inch, a fraction...
but anything they can say, I can say better.
I withdraw back within myself
not dressed to impress,
not here to stay,
up with hood
and down with school,
music blasting
because I can’t take this
scantly-funded nightmare anymore

And with writer’s eyes
and heavy heart
(like everything else,
like always)
I spin this story in my defense:
I am outcast in this lifelong rift within the second class

The name of the game is favorites
and I throw down names and numbers with the best

Sorry, didn’t seem to catch yours
while you murdered mine
On what, a whim?
I know you’ll do your worst in due time.

All misconstrue me-
But by beginner’s luck, I
have come to find that ’round these parts,
there’s no freedom to fit out