Maybe kid, if you weren’t such an asshole to everyone
You’d be less miserable and less of a misery to be around
But this path will lead to pregnancy at sixteen
Or a short, squandered life of violence and addiction
Who I am fluctuates on what has yet to happen. None of us are who we will be in the end
One day I’ll be able to explain that
it’s not a teacher shortage you see
but awful parents and feckless
administrators afraid to do what’s
right because it’s hard and
we leave burned and scarred
hopeless and looking for
any kind of meaning again
There’s science to you, we just don’t understand it yet.
You keep disappearing like it’s no big thing
I walk a shaking tightrope over
Sharp rocks upon which I’ll surely shatter