Lesson Plan.

I fill in your first and middle with your last, answers in order. If only I’d had the benefit of a cheat sheet when I chose you. 25% success meets 75% failure. Majority rules, and no I can’t cheat the system. My test comes back with big red marks over your initials. Life didn’t have that leisure. Only harsh words and louder actions could be my red Xs, but thank god you marked yourself wrong somehow. I need a sympathetic teacher to take test corrections; I need to save my grade and my panicked mind. Time plays teacher, and grade point averages slope up gradually. I hadn’t failed, but the borderline was still too close for comfort.

D raises from C to B; plateau’s hit. I’m not an A student in this subject. Absorb lesson after lesson, and take in maybe half. I’m unacquainted with this lack of success. Miss 4.0, meet the blemish on your transcript. Miss straight A, meet your biggest flaw. It’s dressed up to spite the seasons and strong enough to trample my best efforts. I’m a line of toy soldiers in gunfire, helpless. But determination kicks in. I may be a slacker, but I’m stubborn. I find strength parallel and draft it to my team. I’m becoming more immune.

Realization one, you’re simply embodiment. You’re the mutual acquaintance standing between, introducing my downfall, but you are not my downfall. It rides on your back and in your passenger seat, but you cannot contain it. I’m acing again. My record’s flawless. I’m on a roll and set to graduate with honors. I need this for me; I know you need nothing more. I dress up stories and entertain them in my attic. I’m a betting person, and I’m willing to wager you at face value.
Nothing lies beneath; this is simple. My toy guns fought and won. Shut down analysis and shut up outlandish thoughts. I know now that those push the camaraderie away. I just want to live, and you to live it up with. You’re my left hand, not my heart.

Kick back and grab me one; just call me buddy. There’s good time girl.