You could never miss something,
You never had it,
Nor even given the chance to what it was.
If anything in life,
That I have seen,
In which I had to grow up missing.
But held less care for it,
For it never gave me a chance,
To somehow . . .
Try it and know the feeling of missing it.
Be the father’s love,
Whom,
Choose a different path . . .
To give another that love.
The care of siblings,
Whom,
Live miles apart . . .
And no way of reaching each other,
As the years tick by . . .
The feeling of a hand of caring teacher,
Even in few numbers,
Those who should have tried,
But went against,
For the little knowing of whom I am.
Friends turn foes.
Foes turn friends.
Finding that crutch!
That thing that defines me,
But I would never fully know.
For I would have to go to one place,
A place that could give the helping hands for it,
But before even,
Leaving sixth grade,
A letter was given.
Not once . . .
Not twice . . .
Nor third!
A fourth letter, just at the end of grade school,
To high school came to me,
Saying for how my background,
My family,
And other things that were words,
Far too large to read,
Even now!
A chance to go to college would never happen.
If that fear was too strong,
As teachers took notice of it,
Having coming times,
Quotes parts of letter,
Without knowing,
Finishing that maybe something else would fit me . . .
I know my mind is not set,
As others,
Whom,
Can grasp things better and quicker,
Then me . . .
I know . . .
I know . . .
Please,
Just stop,
I want to go there,
I really do.
But knowing if I try,
I will be rejected,
Even sending a quick notices,
That I could do it . . .
Just as the next smart one.
Just as the next strong one.
Just as the next rich one.
Just as that goddamn one who was . . .
Seen as my fellow equal . . .
Who somehow . . .
Who was place as the same title as me.
Got there,
Without;
A blink of an eye . . .
But now,
Few years later,
I could care less what . . .
English Majors . . .
Art Majors . . .
Science Majors . . .
Film Majors . . .
All the damn majors have to say,
About my crap . . .
Because if I dare,
Say one word back,
Be it a reflect of something of theirs,
Or a hint of being a half-wit critic!
They’ll say,
And they have,
What I would I know on anything of this?
You barely scrape by with that diploma,
From a low end high school,
As their workers much have been on drugs to let,
Walked among their bountiful children . . .
I get it . . .
I am a bastard child.
I am mix breed,
With no clear set of how my family life is,
To others whom have it better than me.
Really,
You got anything else to say?
Because if it repeats one more time,
I might just lose it.
Oh wait . . .
Already have,
Another reason why I can’t go to places,
Like you college majors.
I see.
I see.
Yeah,
Fuck you.
Majors like you,
Give all the goodhearted souls,
That could become close becoming you,
But know far better,
But you just give them a bad name!
If now fully knowing,
This is what going to college,
Does to people,
Making them into heartless behemoths . . .
Then I rather,
Work from the different side of life,
And get by there.
And far away from them,
But if they come by,
I’ll just roll my eyes,
Flip the bird to them,
And keep at it.
Mostly to piss them off,
For as right now,
That’s all I’m good at.
If anything else,
I’ll take it.
For just to them,
As they said,
I won’t be anything like them,
A major,
Crawling from the depths of hell,
Called college . . .
For a major I am not.
But I person,
I willing to damn,
Try to be,
Even,
If anything in this world to become . . .
So go flaunt your majors.
I least I have fun for what I do.
Far better than any eighty’s college movie,
Could show!
And to that,
I take a drink to,
And call it a night.
Later major suckers!
