I Miss You (kellic)

The First Punch

"This is ridiculous. Where's our actual English teacher?" Matt complained.

I rolled my eyes and continued reading the poem we were assigned. It was "If" by Rudyard Kipling. I was quite fond of this poem having read it when I was probably around 13 or 14. Things were different back then. I was different. I interpreted this poem completely wrong in middle school. I had taken it all too literally.

Now, at 17, I think I fully understand.
It read:

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream-and not make dreams your master;
If you can think-and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings-nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And-which is more-you'll be a Man, my son!

I had always liked the ending, how it sounded so proud and triumphant. It was basically saying, if you don't give up, it will eventually make you stronger. I liked it, I really did, but unfortunately it completely contradicted my whole outlook on life. I had given up. Well, maybe not yet all the way, but I will eventually. No matter how Kellin and I turn out, I know I'll be the one who will end up getting hurt. More hurt than before, and that's saying a lot. Also, considering that most of my problems root from my own mind, adding another person to the mix would just deepen the knife into the wound.

Jack threw his pen at me and snickered, "Hey, hey Vicky."

Vicky?

Matt tapped me on the shoulder and leaned over to whisper, "What do you think about this?"

"I like it," I say quietly. I stood up for the things I liked.

He scoffed, "Oh come on, this is literary garbage. He's such a mediocre poet."

"He's not," I protested, "Maybe your just interpreting it wrong."

He gave me an ugly look, "Oh my god, really? You're the one saying that I'm interpreting it wrong? Please, you don't even have the mental capacity."

The others laughed at this, and some of the kids in the front of the class looked back, chuckling. He was such an asshole. They all were. People my age disgust me.

I shrugged it off, not wanting to give him the reaction he was looking for.

"He's right. This is awful," says Jack.