How are you? I'm writing you from school.
All I sacrificed to get here,
and I just want to talk to you.
One month down and I still feel so alone.
There's still years left to go.
And all the things I thought I'd learn are barely taught.
We're just instructed to lean back
and think some frilly, cautious thoughts.
I'd collapse into your arms if you were here
and douse your shirt in tears.
I'm assaulted by the verse of peers
that stresses, line by line,
how anything's assertable as long as it can rhyme.
And they all inhabit fictions
like these workshops will inspire,
hearts abbreviated to a singular desire.
And their books line up like furniture, they shine.
And the light makes constellations on their uncorrupted spines.
And if one desire was all I had to choose...
I'd wish that I was with you.