Poetry About High School

The first bell releases a river of backpacks into the hall. Lockers slam like punctuation between unfinished conversations. In chemistry, we learn that pressure changes ordinary matter. At lunch, one empty chair can feel larger than the cafeteria. A teacher writes possibility in the margin of a difficult page. We practice being certain while our voices are still changing.

In chemistry, we learn that pressure changes ordinary matter. Friday lights turn the field into a temporary country. Friendships are sworn forever beside the vending machines. Exams arrive with sharpened pencils and sleepless forecasts. By spring, the building already feels like somewhere we once lived. We leave carrying more questions than the ones on any test.

The first bell releases a river of backpacks into the hall. A teacher writes possibility in the margin of a difficult page. We practice being certain while our voices are still changing. Exams arrive with sharpened pencils and sleepless forecasts. Names are called, tassels turn, and families rise to cheer. We leave carrying more questions than the ones on any test.