Young Pride

I cannot say I enjoy this age,

rampant with typical teenage angst

of near acknowledgement

of unwanted realities,

of necessary morality,

blocked by immaturity.

And yet it is here I thrive,

with a short term memory

that aids me on tests

and lets me stand atop the rest.

A temporary pride

that quickly becomes vanity.

I fear these years will be my peak,

a peak that cannot even beat

many peers around me.

One of my friends is a very good writer,

and prides herself on being so,

but I pride myself on the same thing,

hence a conflict is made,

because one of us must be better,

“and I’m pretty damn sure it’s me.”

“and I’m pretty damn sure it’s me.”

Or maybe I’m not so sure after all.

I do not want this to be my culmination,

this classroom dominance.

These awkward words and rising anger

befuddled by hundred percents.

“I believe I can be better.”

But I’m not so sure I believe.

I only hope I remain unfettered

by a mundane life of ease.

This should not be my go-to.

I should be writing a story,

I should be doing my math class.

I should be doing a thousand things

That don’t involve sitting in front of this screen.

I should learn to count better beats.

I should learn to work for a realistic dream.

But I know,

It’s just not going to happen.