Each and every day is busy
Sleep, Eat, Run around
dont drink anything fizzy
don't get to see the crowd
Because every second
is scheduled in
every opposition
a force to be reckoned
with For it will hurt
and I will cry
At times I'll smile
but in others I'll shy
away from friends I
wish I had
hoping to change my point of view
I'll just end up mad
When not mad or stressed
I simply wish I was asleep
then I would do my best
but my rest I cannot keep
My eyes tire quickly
my feet and legs hurt
my tummy feels sickly
and my words are short and curt
And yet I endure it well
although where it will end
I cannot tell
this juggling act I don't recommend
mY fEeLiNgS oN sChOlArShIps:
My fingers will continue to twitch as if typing on a phantom board,
but to skip this process, I just can't afford.
Shortly, I'll be in need of a blood-transfusion;
my forehead will permanently be creased in wrinkles of confusion.
My eyes will continue to squint until they're stuck shut;
this computer chair may very well end up being a part of my butt.
I may never again breathe fresh air;
it's likely I'm losing a ton of my hair.
My nails are short, my eyes blood-red;
all of this to "get ahead?"
All of this for the unclear promise:
maybe, one day, I COULD end up with money for college.
Scholarships + Pain = synonymous!
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