A Prose Poem
There is something to be said about the seniors who want the year to end. We’re at the final sixty days, and yet we’re trying to extend: the time we have left with our friends, the times we had to play pretend to get the timing right when we hand in an assignment we never did. Some are slipping, others maintain their usual high GPAs but are barely hanging on. I fall into that second camp; fourth quarter feels so long!
A/N: The third installment of my poetry miniseries, “Senioritis? I Think Not?”All poems were based on a conversation I had with one of my teachers about senior year winding down, and how even though I don’t have senioritis I still feel pretty burned out.
Thank you for being you!