There's a dream I'm living,
Or at least dreaming I'm living,
In which I am good at English.
It's the best thing for me;
It shows me what I can be,
And helps me express my limits.
But I'm starting to think
I've made this all up -
I'm nothing but mediocre.
I feel unoriginal,
Persistently intelligible,
And awfully convoluted.
Maybe someday, I'll realize that English class just wasn't for me.
