I’m sorry, you came here for a poem, I’m guessing?
Well, I hate to say it, but there is something I ought to be confessing,
I can’t write a poem, I can not rhyme
No of course not, when I have no free time
I spend six hours in school,
where all I do is sit on a stool
Classrooms packed with faceless students,
no one making any improvements,
yet everyone thinks they are the best,
no, I’m not kidding, I do not jest
The world is f*cked up
Mucked up
Filled with children who cannot think

How, I ask, how are we supposed to be creative
when we are stuck in a prison where the smart are isolated?
We can’t share ideas outside, we have no time
We are trapped in rooms, being told what to think full-time
And at home? Ha! Not with homework
Two days of freedom? That’s the only perk
Although most of my weekend is spent
frantically thinking about how the h*ll I’ll be able to pay rent
when I am an adult with no skills
No skills, means many bills, many bills means no thrills
The world is f*cked up
Mucked up
Filled with people who cannot think

Now, I must apologize to everyone I undoubtedly offended
This burst of anger and complaints was unintended
But when I spend everyday in a jail filled with mindless students,
All following the same fads
All thinking they are so rad
A burst of anger should be expected from me
But of course, I always wonder
Am I faceless, just a kid who makes the occasional blunder?
Am I a stereotype?
A big *sswipe?
Who writes poems filled with unnecessary cuss words?
I suppose this poem was pointless
Because no matter what
The world is f*cked up
Mucked up
And I cannot think