A.K.A. This Life

By
I wake up at six,
To begin the mix,
A.k.a. this life I call mine.
I arrive at my school,
And I perch on my stool,
And begin drawing shapes and lines.

These simple constructions,
Combine in productions,
That I honestly far from despise.
Soon approaches eight,
And I mustn't be late,
'Cause Amick's a beast in disguise.

Here I learn trig,
Where I might have to dig,
Deep in my bag for my brain.
Next comes the science,
Where Hoover shows his defiance
By letting us know that tuna are being slain.

And after comes English,
Where I lack a real wish,
To continue to write ever again.
I walk into History,
Where it’s always a mystery,
As to what new story Smith will begin.

In this class I have lunch,
Where I have learned to munch,
On anything those women will devise.
Here I talk to my friends,
where a joke never ends
Until a new good one arrives.

I go on to Spanish,
Where my mind seems to vanish,
‘Cause I’m not as bilingual as they.
Next comes some soccer,
Be it a club or school player,
But I run like a dog either way.

I go home and do homework,
Eat dinner, and get such perks
As texting my girl just for fun.
Her name is Priscilla, and
I’m quite the lady killa’
‘cause a prettier girl there is none.

And here I go to bed,
Tomorrow’s thoughts in my head
At nearly an hour past nine.

I wake up at six,
To restart the mix,
a.k.a. this life I call mine.





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