frustration

"Why do you hate us so much?!"

"Because it's fun!"

-Violet Baudelaire, Count Olaf, A Series of Unfortunate Events, episode 8

***

i write in my own ways;

i write on my own days

i refuse to follow your knowledge.

i'd much rather not go to college.

you stuff your creations in my face,

thinking that you'll win the race,

when really i could never care less;

the things you say are quite careless.

--

you can try to make me win your challenges

while i'm stuck over here with my one lonely allergen-

you can promise me money and fame

and when i don't win, it's me that you blame.

your hypnotism may work on the others,

the bots that offer lifeless work in smothers,

but i will never fall into your trap.

i'll just stay right here, a book on my lap.

--

you can't make me think whatever you think.

promise me money? i'll flush it down the sink

your "prizes" and "fame" and words of admiration

only bring fear and unrest to this nation.

i don't care about your winners and prizes and "fun."

i may as well be on the lam, on the run.

i don't care that you want my money for your own sullen purposes.

i'll never give it to you. and that's quite it.

--

you can't make me rhyme,

not even for a dime;

i won't fall into your scheme,

since that's the whole theme.

you can exclude me from your "ranks"

because i don't pay you dollars...

i'd just say "no thanks"

and walk away with my scholars.

--

excuse my language, but this poem was inspired by ms. gold's "The Jig Is Up."

yes, the jig IS up.