As I raise my hand
To answer the the question that has been asked to the class.
The teacher looks at me with deadpan in her eyes.
She looks away as though she knows that I'm wrong.
But hopefully one day when I raise my hand
And you see,
I will be able to answer truthfully. That two time two is four.
That I'm wagging a war
Everyday to see if I'm able to be me.
Roaming the hallways with tigers hungry for meet.
That starve for an outcast that has been pasted by individuality,
That shines brighter than mine.
As they try to pass the finish line,
And what waits on the other side, that is victory
But as I stand still not moving, not beating, being passed.
As though it's is a crime.
As teachers tell me to move my rear, to kick in gear.
I cry.
But only to be passed again!
Everyday is a wagging war.
Before I give in to temptation once again.
I will win.
To move, to pass, not left behind by everyone.
To leave and be relived of this war.
But never forgetting,
How I won this tragic war.
Many left behind to see defeat in the eye
To purse my dream, and know that I am not a barren tree.
So teacher choose me for it might be my time.
To shine and not be...
Left behind.
