March 30, 2008
Today is my day.
Not yours.
Now it is my time, my turn.

Four years I have waited for this day to come,
It all leading up to this moment,
Yet it seemed like eternity.

Finally my principal will shake my hand,
Give me a piece of paper with my name printed on it
And a few signatures beneath.

Then I will be free,
To sit in lecture halls,
Or to pronounce the all familiar words
“Can I take your order please?”
Either way, I will have it all,
For I will be free.

All I have to do now is walk up those stairs,
As my family and friends look in jealousy,
Of the moment I become free.

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