December 11, 2008
By bobbi bouche, Iron Bridge, CT

Every single year,
they are always the same.
They think they're so cool,
But they're actually lame.

After every single class,
they hug and they kiss.
Like they've just been reunited,
after a trip to the abyss.

They take up the halls,
in packs of ten plus.
So you have to run through them,
like an out of control bus.

They cry over boys,
that they've dated and dumped in one afternoon.
With caked on makeup running,
they bolt it to the bathroom.

With a "My boobs aren't big enough!"
And an "I'm such a fat ***!"
They fix themselves up,
only to be late for gym class.

Being way too prissy,
to pick up a ball.
As soon as the bell rings,
they run through the hall.

Straightening their hair,
so that they can look great.
They run for the bus,
so they won't be too late.

Oh you grade niners,
how I wish you'd disappear.
Even though I know,
there will be more of you next year.

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