The Yearbook

An innocent nine-year-old girl sat behind a wooden desk
That desk was her home away from home
The days flew by, the teachers droned on
School was simple and life stress free
Recess and gym were a godsend
She had pals, but the desk was still her best friend

Now she is a teenager, and school is a prison
Her desk and friends have turned into plastic
Drama-filled text messages and the usual catfights
Listening to lectures and writing endless essays
Scholarly success versus the social blend
But the desk still remains her best friend

Now, she enters high school
Forced to study and whatever life she had must go
Dreading the college admissions rat race
And the endless pursuit of a perfect 4.0
Music, theater, debate, and sports, her feelings irrelevant
Still, the desk is as important to her as being Class President.

Finally, her time in prison is at a close
Diploma in hand and tears down her face
She does not want to say good-bye, and yet she does
Knowing that another nine-year-old girl needs a best friend.