The first glance, the acceptance letter,
these I cherished, I still do
however, this grip that holds me
I do not want
not like I wanted my acceptance letter
not like I want my degree
no I want those,
I accept I must work for them
but not like this
not with death's grip around my throat
not when every assignment looks like a noose
not when grade point average strikes my heart,
like an inmate hearing a death sentence
this is not the university I fell for
this is not the experience I wanted
this is not the life I wanted
I do not want these pens to be like daggers
the professors ambassadors of death,
these books form shackles,
Blackboard a ball and chain,
this is not education, this is a corporation,
the need of the few thrown out for the dollar,
breaking my back day in and day out,
for a job I do not like,
only this job pays for you,
death taps my shoulder and points to my book.
Yes, my book
no, my books
they are my friends now,
only I do not know which to pick first
the pressure never lets up, these assignments everlasting.
This is my war cry
This is my funeral.
This is university.

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