Justin Reamer

Freshman - 967 Points (2 October 1993 / Holland, Michigan)

Middle School - Poem by Justin Reamer

I sit at a table,
And I remember my past,
And though it wasn't great,
There were probably those
Who had it worse than I did,
But when I see my little sister,
Talking about middle school,
How I remember
That awkward stage
Of the pre-teen years,
And the tween years,
And the early onset
Of puberty
Starting at age 13.

I sit at the table,
Knowing that this year is 2012,
But when I started middle school,
Several years ago,
(7, to be exact) ,
I remember the feelings
That went on through my head.

It was Corpus Christi,
The middle of the depression years,
And it was the middle of 2005,
When Star Wars III
Had just come out.

I was about to start sixth grade,
And I was there with
My classmates,
In that small,
Private school
That I learned to
Disdain to this day.

Open House had begun,
And I was as happy as can be,
And as a sixth grader,
I was happy,
Just to be me.

My best friend was beside me,
His name Peter Triezenberg,
And it was us against the world,
For we needed no one else.

I had my good teachers,
Who were nice to me that year,
Including Miss Kozak,
My English teacher,
Miss Giroux,
Who taught math and science,
And Mr Ostrowski,
Who taught History
And religion.
And there were the specials
Teachers, as well,
Including Mrs Hernandez,
The Spanish teacher
Who was outstanding and
About to teach her final year,
Mrs Fetters,
The art teacher,
Who had taught for forever,
Mrs Sleeman,
The short-tempered gym teacher,
That I did not like,
For I was no athlete,
And Mr Good,
The band teacher,
Who was nice all the time.

I had no problems in sixth grade,
Except for the onset of my disability,
Which I had had forever,
But which I was finally
Realising existed,
And that was when
Things were challenging,
For I had troubles remembering
Projects and homework,
And kind of got bad grades.

But my teachers were nice,
And they were very patient,
For they did everything to help,
And they did everything
To help me remember things.

But then the bullies were back,
And they picked on Peter and me,
And soon Peter and I fought,
And our friendship was pretty
Much gone,
For Peter wanted
To hang out with other people,
And I did not know how
To talk to people at all.

I had ADD,
Asperger's Syndrome,
And Tourette's Syndrome.
I was very shy,
And I was very reserved.
I was an introvert
More than anything else,
And when I got stressed out,
The stretches, the fidgets,
The cracks, the cramps,
And the ticks all came back.
I looked like a man
Who was having a seizure,
With involuntary movements,
Constant fidgeting,
The inability to sit still,
Stretching like crazy,
The cracking sound in the background,
And the tick,
Little sounds that annoyed people
That sounded like 'uh.'

That was when people really
Knew that I was
Messed up,
For they started harrassing me,
And I really felt the depression worsen,
Even towards the end of the year,
When I began to feel very lonely.

During the summer,
I found a security blanket,
Just by being able to twirl my hair,
I could stop the stretches,
And the fidgets,
And the ticks,
And stop having a seizure idea,
And look like a normal person,
All relaxed on the outside,
Though anxious on the inside.

However, people caught hold of that,
And I was doomed.
My seventh grade year came along,
And I fell into a hole.

People started picking on me,
And I started getting in trouble,
Both the bullies and me,
And it got bad.

When Matt poked my back,
I made a smart comment,
And then he called me 'gay, '
And that made me cry.
After that,
I had been marked for doom.

Bullies began to
Call me names,
And say bad things about me,
And make fun of me
For whatever stupid thing I did,
And I felt stupid
Just because of what they did.

I ended up getting in trouble, too,
When I wrote on Nate's locker,
And when someone declared
That I said the 'F-bomb'
In gym class.

I eventually got so depressed,
That I began to do a bad thing
In public,
Which eventually led teachers to think
I was an idiot.

I also had a horrible teacher,
Who said that I was stupid,
And always gave me a hard time,
And never ever stopped,
For how I remember her
Making fun of my writing,
And taking away my notebook,
Which I was so fond of
At that time.

And all the teachers turned on me,
And the principal,
And my own priest,
And I fell into a deeper pit,
And things became very hard.

I was then taken out of school,
And I did my own studying there,
And after a month,
I went back to school
In a different middle school,
That place you call a wasteland.

I went to Mac Bay,
And things were good at first,
And then I did something stupid,
And things just got worse.

I was made fun of,
By everyone there was,
And I had virtually no friends,
And I was all alone.

Middle school was horrible,
Even as eighth grade continued,
And I need not go into detail,
About everything that happened.

When I hear my brother and my sister
Talk about how great middle school is,
I laugh to myself
And say, 'You're wrong, '
For all it is is wasteland.

Middle school is a dump,
An intellectual wasteland,
I would never want to relive those years,
Ever again in my life.


Poet's Notes about The Poem

I was thinking about the memories of middle school, and I decided to write a poem about it. Middle school, for me, is much worse than what is depicted in the poem, but poetry, and writing in general, can be therapeutic, so I decided to write it down. I don't know if you agree with me, but I would never want to go through middle school again. It is in the past, and I am glad that it is done. I am glad that i can move on with my life. I hope you enjoyed the poem, and feel free to comment. It is just something that I wrote, and something people can enjoy, if they please.

Comments about Middle School by Justin Reamer

  • (8/8/2012 10:19:00 AM)


    I enjoyed this, a very honest autobiographical poem of high quality, full of details, full of truth, a poem that reminded me of the problems I had myself, in those days a very run down comprehensive in London in the
    early seventies. Anyway, a good write, you have talent.
    (Report) Reply

    0 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
Read all 1 comments »



Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?



Poem Submitted: Wednesday, August 8, 2012

Poem Edited: Wednesday, August 8, 2012


[Report Error]