"Open your toolboxes", the teachers often said
As if we weren't people
More like boxes full of things that could be of use
Uniquely packed with skills and whatnot
Talk about talents, slip in a lie or two
One girl points out my name
Assumes I have a knack for music
Bold of her to think Granny's rich enough
Friend groups, more like prisons
Once you've sat at one table, you're there forever
Leaving brands you as a traitor
As for me, I'm in the corner with my juice
Ageing didn't help matters
Up a grade doesn't make you more mature
Bullies do nothing but present a question
Who is the idiot, you or them?
Teachers keep reminding you of two things
You are a box of tools,
And you're here till early 20 year
Irrelevant to my everyday
They would never know why I disappeared
And even less how I returned
