Dear God

Your work is easier than mine.

Fishing for scholarships, all floating above me.

They're all biting,

never fighting.

 

Only the brawlers are the fishermen

Me and them.

They know I'm there, but don't know my potential.

Neither do I.

Don't cry.

The waters reflection stares back.

It's made of the saltiest tears.

Fish may have plenty of fears.

 

I get hooked with the number$.

I've always been scared of hooks, especially in fishing.

 

Is this a curse? 

A pre-college curse?

Forced to eternally 

click

click

click

clique

Make some friends.

They sympathize with your aching fingers.

No longer brawlers, only minglers.

 

Only til' next year.

(repeat 4 times)