I was trapped in this home in which I spent hours inside.

The walls closed in on me and I was left alone to reside. 

And I sat there in thought, why was I so sad?

So angry, so lonely, so downcast, so mad?

It was junior year and I felt like dying. 

Like hiding myself in my room and just crying.

The stress piled up and it made my head pound, my heart turn to stone, my smile to frown. 

They say that the 3rd year of high school is tragic

I was foolish to think that my 3rd would be magic.

Because I was stuck in a cycle of daily routines

But not the fun parts of being a teen.

The parts that you leave out when telling your kids

When asked about high school and all that you did.

The part where you hear your friend whisper a comment

About the dress you wore to hoco looking like vomit.

The part where your friends speak of their time together

Telling you about it, forcing you to remember

That in this time in which they laughed, you sat alone taking a bath

In the home in which was too far away

From the house that people actually wanted to stay.

Yes leave out the part where you scroll through pictures of girls

Wearing fancy dresses, and swimsuits, and pearls.

And you wonder how they could possibly have all this fun

How they make all these memories and you seem to have none.

Yes, the 3rd year of high school is tragic indeed

Your mind starts to wander, your heart starts to bleed

So believe what you hear about junior year

It’s true, every aspect has been made clear.