Four Years, Scholastic Hell

October 22, 2007
By Ari Kadi, Atlanta, GA

Razor runs over my wrist
Inhale a toxic mist
I wrote a sorry sad note
Gulped a pill, trashed Daddy’s boat
Headline: Socialite’s dead daughter
Unhappy with the stuff he bought her

Yo I don’t want any drama momma
All I want is my hummer
Knocked up some hooker
She wasn’t much of a looker
Top of the pyramid of fake status
Got the rep of a good looking badass
Football, basketball, soccer…I do it all
I be checkin those college girls at the mall
I’m a big bad senior and a varsity quarterback
Watcha gonna do…I’m great in the sack
My world, it crashed and burned
Priorities seemed to move and turn
Soon I lost the will to live
When I tested HIV positive

Glasses, retainer, a way of life
A mathletes struggle to survive
In a scholastic hell
Class to class, bell to bell
Loser, that’s my middle name
No chance of friends or fame
So hell yeah, I got that gun
And shot every son

In class my mouth is shut
People think I’m some kinda slut
Problems with my baby daddy
He don’t pay for little Kari
I used to cheer out on the field
But then I lost all the power I used to wield
Sick and alone, no one is calling on the phone
My momma used to beg me to stay at home

Four years in these halls
Hundreds of unanswered calls
Four years, and all one has to show
Is a hard heart, an arrow and a bow

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