Sitting in this big white room, poems are what I write
Finishing this project, though, is what I fright
I've been working quite hard through days end,
My message is what I'm trying to send
These poems aren't just words, they're obviously a passage
Into my mind, and all of its baggage
It gets quite deep when one begins to think about it,
Burdening my mind so much that it makes me want to quit,
I know that's not an option, though, I need this grade,
Because no diploma equals no job equals I don't get paid.
