Living in Junior high

I truly hated  Junior High, where I would find a childish crowd

Of boys who snuck Dad’s cigarettes, and girls with shriek-y giggles loud;

Where winning fights meant all the world, and losing was a special hell,

And no one lingered in between, for there, a student was compelled

To hold the role of traitor, and feel hate alike from either side.

No option to remain aloof, for uninvolved was suicide.

But if we picked , we’d soon be told of our disloyalty to those

Who champion the other side, reject the argument we pose.

That ugly, awful us and them was understandably a part

Of teenagers, who live in slavery, each to fierce and fiery heart.

To feel that deeply once again, the scrape first love leaves on the soul,

To stand for what we each believed.  I could, I think, impose control

Upon myself, to change my life and all the stupid things I’ve done;

Or else, to simply stand apart, to be alone, the peaceful one.


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