existence.

"Sad stuff makes beautiful poetry, but it's not so pretty to live with." [-Merecat]
*For the Dear Diary Competition*
(I recommend anything beyond 'Tumbling Ash' for the rest is a mess of nonsense words that hold no character, no story and absently fill the page)

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57. Whirpool Worries

 

School begins again tomorrow and for another year I must

immerse myself in endless revision books and worn out pens that struggle to work.

 

This year is not a year to joke around or have fun but instead

it is a year of seriousness.

Gone are my lessons of laughter,

where our dimples deepen with smiles and our eyes shine with childish hope.

Now it is all work and work and work,

setting up for the guinea pig trials that define our lives but to the government

it is but just another scheme to try and shamefully piece together

our broken economy,

forgetting how shattered our society will be in the process.

 

I dread this school year,

but not because I know that exams loom around the bend.

No, I dread the classes and the people amongst them that act as if they're fine.

But how can they be?

 

You're in a huge class with an ocean of people around you that chat

like their lungs hold endless amounts of oxygen

and their jaws could never splinter.

 

This year we mix:

boys and girls,

one muddle of hormones and deodorant.

 

For three years I have dealt with just girls and learnt how to act like

their comments did not pierce me,

or how to find out the latest talk simply by pretending to zone out.

Now,

now we have a whole new gender and this stresses me to a great extent.

 

Their looks and their words and their actions,

their constant judging,

it's terrifying.

 

It is like I have a snake in my stomach and I can feel it writhe

with every sickening thought of having to be social.

 

-2nd September 2015

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