Senior Year

Thu, 03/14/2019 - 22:53 -- ntlia

Senior year was dimmed by the coming shadow of applying to college

Countless hours in coffee shops writing essays

The alternating waves of excitement and stress

It’s all about the money

Paying for applications, paying for school. It’s all about the decisions

Where to apply, what to send. It’s all about the waiting

 

And the waiting.

You never know when a college

will say hi. Change your life. When it’s made its decisions

that will have an immeasurable impact on your life. Were my essays

good enough? Will they give me enough money?

I can’t remember the last time I closed my eyes without stress

 

I’ve learned to channel my stress

I use it to make me do things. I use it to ignore the waiting

and I use it to try and gain money

If I can’t handle this, how will I be able to handle college?

I push the thought away. Back to my essays

My dad reminds me I’m bad at making decisions

 

I haven’t thought much about my decisions

I lie, letting my stress

speak. I could barely decide how to write my essays

Now, this. Maybe I don’t mind the waiting

The less I know, the less real it seems. College

has my number. God, but the money.

 

I pretend I can decide, but it’s the money

that really decides. I guess I don’t have any decisions

after all. Is that better or worse? Ask me in college

when I’ve learned to turn off my stress

instead of force it down my own throat. I’m waiting

to see if I break down. Maybe. No more essays

 

So what’s next? Ask the essays

yet to be written. I tell them I’ll pay money

for them to be quiet. So they hush. Lie in waiting

as if they had decisions

to make of their own. My stress

says hello. Nothing is said by my college

 

Nobody warned me that the stress started with the essays

And didn’t end with the waiting. I think it ends with the decisions

Or maybe when I finally get money. I’ll know in college.

 

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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