In lieu of a proper, sensical entry, my dears...

The writing's gone well, if by well you mean poorly
If by writing you mean slop set to a story
If by gone you mean delayed and fought for and against
If by the you mean--well, it has been so long since
I put words in a rhythm, prose into rhyme
I tend to slip up from time to time
And, like above, miss a syllable or two
Or go on too long 'fore starting stanza anew

The institution of learning which I have been sent to
Can burn in rotten hell, and every teacher too
In truth, I do not mean to be cruel
But to delineate my struggles given to me by school
In the past week alone would take half an hour
To describe the whole year I don't have the power
To describe the last day I think would suffice
If the very idea did not fill me with vice

However, some happiness! Pieces of news
For which without my san'ty I might lose
Some Sunday past, a week ago since
My dear friend Maia did manage to convince
My easily-won mind to chop of my hair
And now, simply put, it's simply not there
Cut 'round my chin, and with bangs to boot
Do I regret it? The answer is moot

For regret I have none; for other things, yes
For miseries which have fallen into mess
My happinesses, I find, are few and quite fleeting
My sorrows are great, my matches I am meeting
Or failing to meet, or falling behind
The struggle and the stress of my mind
Is oftentimes too great to bear
But in my grades, 'tis apparent there

But speak not of misery! It does not promote
Good nature to feel as if cut by the throat
Or optimism to feel always left in the dust
Though sometimes it is hard, so sometimes we must
Look forward with a smile, find it in ourselves to laugh
Look to the good things, look back to the gaffs
And the jokes and the joys we shared with our friends
So even for hardships we may make amends