Not sure if my heart's in
Degree chasing anymore
In my private carrel
Draft an outline for dropping out
I wrestle my prospectus
Academic expressions
Stare out my carrel window
Draft an outline for jumping out
I don't know my own writing anymore
My thoughts don't fit into footnotes or Chicago
I don't want to be another patch of plaster
On the false phallic facade
Eight years, self-obsession
Eight years, self-destruction
In the back of my mind
I've already dropped out
I've given up
on the malnourishment of my muse
My mind, it grows
In a different soil
Than the sods of class rooms
There's a lack of love in stiff rows
Too many moods
that don't bleed through
Institutional veins
There's blood clots on my tracks
A life too broad
To squeeze into
A narrow tenure track
Eight years, self-obsessions
Eight years, self-destruction
Is dropping out the same as copping out?
Is giving up the same as giving up?
Is disillusion the same as bruising?
Is this degree the cost of losing me?
Eight years, self-obsession
Eight years, self-destruction
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