our entire youth in a classroom, just like this
childhood suppose to be a time of bliss
a world of knowledge open up before you
and less of course, you're different
a misfit, an outcast
and then it should have been a glorious memory
becomes a hideous scar that refuses to fade
you can deny it
you can hide it
you can repress it
but ultimately you can never forget it
you will return to the inescapable horror of the classroom of your youth
except this time......

you will not graduate
i like it but it really needs some rhyming words and maybe a better ending too since the last line seems out of place... i kinda relate to it so i'll just say that its good, keep on writing
Roses are red
Violets are blue
I write poetry
And it sucks.
i meant to be that way... i want to read this in an empty class, with my enemy's name on the chalkboard