You Lost Touch When You Became Fake
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It never works out right.
High school: full of everything that batters your emotions, eventually turning you into an emotional wreck if you're not on top of the ladder. If you're not the one covered in fake tan, an orange face with a white neck. If you're not the one who will go out with every guy in your year. If you're not the one to lose your virginity, year nine aged thirteen.
It's the truth of our life which every adult refuses to believe. How school life has changed from when they were in school. They don't want to see the ugly truth. The grey truth.
Secrets never stay a secret, there'll always be someone willing to sell their friends out for a chance to be at the top. To have people laugh with you and not at you. That person will be deceived by the people who are only at it for a laugh. Because what good is their education? Their minds clouded with make-believe stuff. That work will be easy. That you don't need any qualifications. They believe that everything will be served on a golden plate to them, like everything is now.
So let's fill your heads with rumours, telling you that this high school is different. So that the people at the top will have a new person to taunt and tease, so that I can finally get some peace from my impending doom.
Teachers; the downfall of us all. They blab on and on about how they will be there to keep us safe. How they will stop bullying. But they couldn't stop bullying even if it hit them square whack in the face. Especially if it's a teacher bullying a pupil. You stupidly told us the truth. That the teacher will always be right, no matter if they're are wrong because other teachers will lie to save them from trouble. So what do you do when you're up at night, hiding the pain that you will never get over because no one will believe you over a teacher?
Is it a consolation prize for the teachers because they can't control us so they get us back by torturing us, slowly killing us off. When someone commits suicide, why is it that they suspect friends and enemies to be the ones who drove that said person to the edge? Why is it never a teacher?
It goes by so slowly, an agonising five years of hell. We were so naïve when we first entered year seven. We went from being at the top of primary school, being the biggest kids there, to the bottom of secondary school, the new kids. Everything kiddie-like had to be left behind. You can't be in year seven aged eleven and running around chasing your friends. You do that, your high school life is over. You'll be tormented and beaten, laughed at and teased. And what teachers will help you? And you can't tell your parents because you'll then be a snitch and get it harder. So be careful when you first enter, keep the friends you have at safe distances, you don't know when they might sell their souls.
After all the drama, they might want their souls back. They might want to come home to your friendship, expecting open arms. But will you willingly give yours up for them to come back, changed and not the same?
Well, when you reach your darkest hour, don't come and cry to me. Because it built me up. High school built a new me, one that won't care when I hear you crying from the gutters. Where I will ignore your outstretched arm, asking for some help up. Because you were the one to throw me down to try and taste how it feels at that top.
Tell me now, was it worth it?
Was it so worth throwing our friendship out of the window for those people, the ones with no feelings and no cares about anyone else other than themselves? Did you enjoy your fake crown that they made you? The one they filled with fake rumours that were nearly as fake as you were. You make me laugh; you were pathetic. If I was ever given the chance to change my position, to be on top rather than at the bottom, I wouldn't swap it. Because I would rather be broken and hurt then fake and pathetic.
Tell me, how was your crown like? Did it have thorns? Horns? Or a fake halo, one as damned as you are?
I couldn't help but feel betrayed when the others welcomed you back with open arms. When they let you into our close-knit friendship home, like you hadn't done a damn thing wrong. Like you never lost yourself just to be at the top of something that society created just to be spiteful. Well, at least you had the decency of looking guilty when I confronted them about breaking our allegiance. How they just stabbed it in the back and dusted it under the rug.
They all laughed at me, told me I was losing it. When in truth, I wasn't losing it. I just lost touch. Touch on life, all because of one incident in high school that lead to the break up of our friendship.
High school: full of everything that batters your emotions, eventually turning you into an emotional wreck if you're not on top of the ladder. If you're not the one covered in fake tan, an orange face with a white neck. If you're not the one who will go out with every guy in your year. If you're not the one to lose your virginity, year nine aged thirteen.
It's the truth of our life which every adult refuses to believe. How school life has changed from when they were in school. They don't want to see the ugly truth. The grey truth.
Secrets never stay a secret, there'll always be someone willing to sell their friends out for a chance to be at the top. To have people laugh with you and not at you. That person will be deceived by the people who are only at it for a laugh. Because what good is their education? Their minds clouded with make-believe stuff. That work will be easy. That you don't need any qualifications. They believe that everything will be served on a golden plate to them, like everything is now.
So let's fill your heads with rumours, telling you that this high school is different. So that the people at the top will have a new person to taunt and tease, so that I can finally get some peace from my impending doom.
Teachers; the downfall of us all. They blab on and on about how they will be there to keep us safe. How they will stop bullying. But they couldn't stop bullying even if it hit them square whack in the face. Especially if it's a teacher bullying a pupil. You stupidly told us the truth. That the teacher will always be right, no matter if they're are wrong because other teachers will lie to save them from trouble. So what do you do when you're up at night, hiding the pain that you will never get over because no one will believe you over a teacher?
Is it a consolation prize for the teachers because they can't control us so they get us back by torturing us, slowly killing us off. When someone commits suicide, why is it that they suspect friends and enemies to be the ones who drove that said person to the edge? Why is it never a teacher?
It goes by so slowly, an agonising five years of hell. We were so naïve when we first entered year seven. We went from being at the top of primary school, being the biggest kids there, to the bottom of secondary school, the new kids. Everything kiddie-like had to be left behind. You can't be in year seven aged eleven and running around chasing your friends. You do that, your high school life is over. You'll be tormented and beaten, laughed at and teased. And what teachers will help you? And you can't tell your parents because you'll then be a snitch and get it harder. So be careful when you first enter, keep the friends you have at safe distances, you don't know when they might sell their souls.
After all the drama, they might want their souls back. They might want to come home to your friendship, expecting open arms. But will you willingly give yours up for them to come back, changed and not the same?
Well, when you reach your darkest hour, don't come and cry to me. Because it built me up. High school built a new me, one that won't care when I hear you crying from the gutters. Where I will ignore your outstretched arm, asking for some help up. Because you were the one to throw me down to try and taste how it feels at that top.
Tell me now, was it worth it?
Was it so worth throwing our friendship out of the window for those people, the ones with no feelings and no cares about anyone else other than themselves? Did you enjoy your fake crown that they made you? The one they filled with fake rumours that were nearly as fake as you were. You make me laugh; you were pathetic. If I was ever given the chance to change my position, to be on top rather than at the bottom, I wouldn't swap it. Because I would rather be broken and hurt then fake and pathetic.
Tell me, how was your crown like? Did it have thorns? Horns? Or a fake halo, one as damned as you are?
I couldn't help but feel betrayed when the others welcomed you back with open arms. When they let you into our close-knit friendship home, like you hadn't done a damn thing wrong. Like you never lost yourself just to be at the top of something that society created just to be spiteful. Well, at least you had the decency of looking guilty when I confronted them about breaking our allegiance. How they just stabbed it in the back and dusted it under the rug.
They all laughed at me, told me I was losing it. When in truth, I wasn't losing it. I just lost touch. Touch on life, all because of one incident in high school that lead to the break up of our friendship.