Know-it-all, teacher’s pet, weirdo, hardest worker in class, burnout, smart kid. I’m one of them. We’re all better than the others, but none of us can be the best. Burnout, burnout, burnout, happens to the best of us.
All the smart kids, have you been inside their heads?
People say they get it but they don’t.
They don’t get why I work this hard. They say they wish they had my grades.
But they don’t. Because they don’t know the things I’m missing:
The friends who never see me, the girlfriends I don’t have, all the people who can’t get me, the family who are so worried for me.
None of them know the half of it.
The voice in my head is the only one who understands.
It keeps going on and on, about the work I should be doing, the grades I should have gotten, the girls in my class cleverer than me, why can’t you be like them, you take too much time off, you’ll never make it if you take so much time off, everything would be great if you were just a little smarter, any less work and you’ll be a failure.
I wish it would OFF.
I should probably start telling people
About the toilets I cry in,
The parties I wish I’d gone to,
The minutes I wish I had to be a teenager,
The person I wish I’d been,
Before it gets too late.
But my mum worries enough already.
The ones who’d understand, who’d say it’s not just me, they don’t want to talk either.
I wish someone who isn’t me would admit we have a problem.
But they won’t, cause right now every excuse is better than the truth.
Burnout, burnout, burnout. A valid possibility.
But God forbid I consider it before it happens.
Failure doesn’t compute. It’s not something I can allow right now.
Not thinking about this is just another excuse,
To stop myself from really living,
Because speech makes this real.
But when you don’t think the sad thoughts for days at a time,
Who’d want to be reminded?
So I stop my thoughts from pouring out of me,
Otherwise I’d never be able to take them back in.
This isn’t a cry for help,
I’m not admitting I can’t do this. Because it’s all I can do right now.
I’m not even certain I want to change.
I just wanted to write my thoughts down. So I can look back, and remember where it all began, or where it all went wrong.
What is my ambition worth?
Because when I’m at death’s door,
I want a wife at my side, a family. The things you don’t get with brains.
And somehow, I feel like of all the things to regret,
I won’t be crying over the A* I didn’t get.
Copyright © Lily Scior-Lewis | Year Posted 2018