What's it gotten me?
Studying, praying for high marks
Enduring those insanely jesting jackals
That torment me ever so.
A back
Broken of tomes and grimoires
A cabeza deprived dormir and sleeping
Subjects collide
Through a thousand lenses of
Musca Domestica.
Eye sockets dragged through spikes and
Lectures.
A bitter appreciation for humanity's
True face.
I've got a head full of knowledge
And a broken body
And I won't look back.
Students' angst. I can identify. We can hope to become one of the 'few good teachers' that students remember.
i love this. i love how much heart u put into ur poems. u r a great writer. jokeret
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
as do its shores without an end, its glorious, flat, unending beach, Lost in the milky whiteness, the frothing rocking sets me forth, till once again my mind cast in an endless riddle, World moves on body not mind.Your words prove the present scenario.Prostitutes live better like poets most of the time.