“And I oop” I say
Scrunchie and hydroflask
In hand, SKSKSK
Dab, whip, nae nae, lit
My generation is trash
I am disgusted
Welcome to Nepean, you terrified grade nines,
Hopefully, this poem can give you peace of mind.
Small fish in a big pond, boy have we been there,
The great white shark from middle school, now gasping for air.
You feel like you're invisible,
Like no one really cares.
Or like you’re invincible,
Til you behold the stairs.
You’ll see familiar faces,
Recognize grade tens.
But they’ve already run the bases,
And even made some friends.
You’d think after their first year,
Experienced and in-group.
But inside they all do still fear,
The horrors of the stoop.
Grade eleven’s where that changes,
I know it to be true.
Not only close in ages,
But friendships will come too.
In that year will come maturity,
With thoughts towards the future.
You may find security,
Getting through this juncture.
Grade twelves, congrats you made it,
This year so bittersweet,
You’ll swear that school, you hate it,
But wish it could repeat.
You’ll hope to have things solved,
By the time your time has finished.
You finally have evolved,
But the stress has not diminished.
College and University,
Or backpacking through Roma.
There’s too much diversity,
After securing that diploma.
Well, what do you want to be?
They’ve asked you from the start.
I hope one day it’s clear to see,
Til then follow your heart.
By Lianna D'Angelo
October 1, 2019
By Lily Raaflaub
October 2, 2019
November 1, 2019