High School Poem by Desiree Whitamore

Colors of the rainbow gather in classes.
The writings on the desks, engraved in with pen, tell us the thoughts of the kids in the past.
Outside of the classroom is a spiderweb.
Students going every which way, very intricate and neat.
Gossip fills our heads and our ears.
Its a mini-real world and it prepares us for the inevitable.
We see what it's like to be on our own.
During high school's four years we change.
Its like dressing in front of a mirror.
There's always someone looking back at you, going throught the same thing.
We make friends, some easier than others.
But we were all new once.
After four years we get comfortable with our surroundings.
But then we get to be new again, and we wish we were still in high school.