Below is the poem entitled Burning Graduation which was written by poet
Way. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.
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The rage inside me is sickening, never thought I would be on this side. Everybody always saw me on this side and being stuck, no support for me. Go ahead rub your rolled up beige papers in my face, all your cheap grad gifts and spoiled cake! I don’t need you, not one of you! Keep your puppy soft dreams and leave me in this block building, with its cold uneven floors littered with junk food wrappers and hallways that reeks of gym socks and piss. Go out into the big bad world and I hope you all get eaten by all the monsters out there. The resent in me leeks a rotten taste in my mouth like roadkill, the stomach turning stench that you know what it is before you can see. The only things my hands hold are more projects and due dates, I grip them so tight my hands turn white and the paper cuts me to bits. The posters, the flyers, all media laughing at me. Radio, stores all just shoving the event down my throat and strangling my heated heart. Hot water runs from my eyes, let them soak wherever they go, I don’t care anymore. You have resumes and diplomas in your polished hands, so go decorate your dorm rooms and party with your frat boys I will be standing right here. It’s like a waiting game of cat and mouse, waiting for the mouse's head to peek out so I can attempt to snatch it up but always slipping through my paws. I take this match and bottle of gas and set fire to your almost grasp of the end of your path. I burn it to a crisp till you can no longer identify what it is. I pace back and forth in my tiny room and kick around my dirty clothes that I threw everywhere in a tantrum. I trip over shoes that have holes and t-shirts with the necks cut out. The ripped posters on the floor lay like fallen leaves crunching under my feet. Pick up pillows so I can share my screams, I scream so hard it feels like I can’t breathe. The shattered frames with my fist placed perfectly in the center stare at me in disbelief and gleaming glass on everything you see. The sun is fighting to get in through my curtains seams, it fights so hard my room has a small glow to my white walls that cage me so well. My homework ripped to shreds because I can’t take anymore. If I can’t see it it’s not real. Family blowing up my phone that sits in the blue light of my clock flashing the wrong time which rests on my scratched up night stand, nothing but a bee buzz against wood. They all want to know when the ceremony is, what I will be wearing, who’s going and where their invites are. The news has not traveled, is my mother for once not taking control over everything? Has she not spread gossip like butter over everyone's brains yet? Let it go to voice mail, I can answer next year.