The late November night smokes a pack of
Hershey cigarettes and it's as if nobody
understands how those toxic jokes
make me feel trapped in
this claustrophobic place.
So I have no choice but to
go home and pick up my boxing gloves,
preparing myself for another round of bullying.

You may call me proud but don't exaggerate.
I've been pushed around and
shoved into dumpsters long enough
to know that discrete strength is
the key to survival.
It's about teachers turning a blind eye
and death threats in the cafeteria.
Baby, it's about roller coaster feelings

I felt that it would be nice for us teen boys to just hang out, share crushes, books, movies, relax, and just be with people of our own kind.

So I'd like to congratulate myself on one of my recent displays of poor judgment. I decided to procrastinate reading Kafka's The Metamorphosis (which is a little odd, mind you, and LONG - short story my ass) and writing the two essays for my AP Literature class. I'm still on the second essay because I can't even think right now.