To Fly, To Fall

I am in the land of the lavish, the excess. And I, I am simply moderate. We are all in disguises, those grey and white things we call uniforms, those red and grey school colors. But they, they have more money in their pockets, less crazy in their heads, less things to worry about.

Yet they think I'm some kind of a Superwoman.The Bipolar girl with Big Brains. Professors won't call me anymore, classmates won't help me. They think I know everything, I don't have to worry on exams, I'm smart. Maybe so, my parents just have to find money to pay for it. And I cry, a lot, over things that's needed, while the university sucks us dry, while I try to fly with the only weapons I know I have. Knowledge, words, the love of learning, the times through hell that they never had to experience. I cry from the pressure and that painful high pedestal they put me in. I am no Superwoman. In fact, I'm falling from that pedestal, crumbling right now as I learn that everything that I have built the past few months have the possibility of being thrown away. Just like that. No matter how high my grades are.

Mother asks if I'm bitter. Perhaps. But the everyday slap in the face of these people throwing away what they have like it's nothing guts me as my parents and I crawl our way through my college education. The girls talk boys, and makeup, and dicks while some boys have fun, or messes with me. Some are plain dumb. Some don't attend classes just for shits and giggles. Money is not an issue. In my greedy university, money is an issue. And since I can't work now, what's a middle-class "smart girl" to do? Time to find a scholarship from those fucking corrupt politicians.

God, I hate this.