This is the Place

The eve of my Senior Year.
"senior"
Senior what?
Not citizen.
People don't even think
I'm an adult,
so I find 'senior'
to be a dumb term.

I'll just stick with independent woman,
thanks.

Senior means the end of high school
on one level,
when the word is separate to me.

The end.
Of a four year long
hell?
Of a huge chunk 
bitten out of my life?

This is the beginning
of an end.

For that, I am thankful,
and for that alone.

My motivation for tomorrow
is really only to go and get
the music promised to me.
That's it.
The rest I'm just ignoring.
It hasn't set it.
Tomorrow night 
I will cry with shock:
inevitable.
Shock of what my life
will be for a year.
How trapped I am.

Last year,
the eve before my junior year,
a huge thunderstorm kept me awake
most of the night.
I took it as an omen,
that my junior year would be bad.

It was the worst year of my life.

I'm looking for a sign.
Waiting for a good omen.
Hoping this will be something better.

I just don't know.

I have only one goal
for this year,

to survive it.

Thriving,
that's for other people.
I'm done here,
I mean only to 
eke out a meager existence.
To live.

I am going to survive this year,
there is no other option.

It is just a roadblock 
to the rest of my life.
It's a sobriety check point.
Have I been a horrible failure?
No.
Ok, I can pass go,
I can collect 200 dollars
after this is over.

I am looking forward to my music
tomorrow,
a good parking spot,
my friends first in first period,
and seeing that one guy who's pretty ok.

The rest is a vast barren wasteland I
could always, always do without.

But suffering 
usually makes good art.
And I'm in the business
of writing,
and that business takes
a lot of misery.

We'll see what comes of all
this shit,
and hopefully
I do 
survive.