Not a Number

I am not a number.

I am not a rank out of my class, which is a bummer.

I am not a number on a four-point scale.

I am not just a student, and I like to rebel.

I am a person.

I spend my whole childhood worrying over petty things:

grades, projects, percentiles.

I do that so that I can go to college

and spend another four years or more

doing the same thing, gaining that knowledge.

My teacher, you know not how I feel.

School has changed, as the world has, since your time, as string on a wheel.

Classes are harder, more extensive,

at times we seem to lose all our senses.

I wish school would teach us how to learn,

memorizing my AP book won’t help be earn

money, which I will need to live,

but it will get me into college.

How about taxes?

I don’t know how that works.

When I’m on my own my wallet will hurt.

Can I do it all?

Will the sleepless nights

stress over approval

yearning for acceptance

in hopes of being seen as a person

be worth it?

I am not a number.