And when I die,
Don’t you dare come to my funeral Don’t put flowers on my grave
Don’t cry and say you’ll miss me
Because you’re the reason I’m six feet under
Wondering if I’ll ever Rest in Peace
You Are Not Defined By Exam Results (Spoken Word)
By Ryan Havers
(If you want to read this and record it and post it, do. And also please send it to me or direct me to it!)
Well kids, 18 years of compulsory education are over.
18 years of being told to sit down and shut up.
18 years of being told to speak when you’re spoken to.
18 years of being intellectually measured and placing your value and self-worth on a series of arbitrary and meaningless tests.
18 years of government ideologies being implemented through textbooks and subliminal curriculum changes; I bet you can tell me how many apples Kumar Rajesh The Third bought, but I bet
you can’t tell me who Mary Seacole was. Without Googling her.
18 years of conformity, take off the suit or the shit school jumper
or the blouse or the knee-length skirt, ain’t no pervy teacher
gonna get all offended; even though it’s their lack of self-control
and inability to control their sexual desires and the bullshit belief
that the victims are the ones responsible for all sex crimes performed on them. (Here’s something they don’t teach you at school: there are no excuses for raping someone. None. Zero. Nada. Don’t fucking do it. No means no means no means no means no.)
18 years of useless bullshit, goodbye Golgi Apparatus, hello money!
Time for loans and jobs and bills and I bet they never taught you
about exchange rates and how to get the most out of changing
your money. At least you can work out a Triangle’s hypotenuse…
18 years, trying to get you to behave, get you in a nice little line
so you’ll be a dutiful employee, a simpleton, normal, the same,
a cardboard cut-out of everyone else, a follower of the status quo.
Well kids, after all of that, all 18 years, I hope you’re still you.
I hope you’ve found joy in your own company and the company of others. I hope you have a dream, a vision, a belief, something to stand for. I hope you’re happy; well, happy enough after being mentally tortured for 18 years by the most flawed institution ever created.
I also hope you know just how goddamn beautiful you are, and I fucking mean it. I hope you realize there’s more to life than fly-by-night popularity and that crushes are little more than dust in the wind and that you are not defined by any of the tests that you take.
18 years now, wipe the slate. Start over. This is not the end, failure is not fatal and success is not final. This is only the beginning. It’s a big beautiful world out there. Trust me, I didn’t believe in it either.
Well kids, that’s the bell; your 18 years of hell are now finally over. Breathe in. Relax. And remember; this is only Chapter 1…
“You just don’t know
How this monster tears at my throat
A manifestation of the knot when tears start welling
How can you act like you care, there’s no telling
Its real easy to smile in pictures, edit, full control
But you don’t fucking know the me outside the phone.
How the knife feels against my thighs
One two three, it cuts it slides
Oh how the purest white cocaine
Feels as it fucks my brain
Do you know what its like to put on a show?
Than go home and hover over a mound of blow
Guzzle down a 40 and get stoned
I’m bringing home a baby bubble bee
I wonder what treasures that will bring me
A house, a car, handouts galore
Given everything to squander for some whore
They came in took our money and the food off our plate
And they still hold the cards to my fate?
Can no one see I’m in pain?
Are you really to busy to see this needle sticking out of my vein?
No therapy for the mentally fucked up
Because physically I don’t show blood
Nothings wrong, she’s happy, look at her posts
Filled with lies behind the jokes
I’m drowning and you just don’t know
How Little Miss Sunshine died long ago
Just another drop out who battles with a “fake” depression
Who suffers from a minimal obsession
Seeing strangers around the dinner table
Born into a life based on some broke down fables
Do you know what its like to see the man who ruined your life?
Staring back in the reflection of a knife
Oh how it all becomes real
When you are finally forced to deal
How you only listen now that Death rings her final bell
Like Lucifer cast into hell
I wait in the ninth circle, frozen
Always second rate, fuck being chosen
I’ll never be good enough
So I’ll stick to my drugs
The only thing I can count on to be there when I come home.
Consistency in the only thing I know.
A true master of my ability.
In the art of invisibility.” D.I.E POETRY •_°