Just a Number (A Tribute to UCF)

Everywhere I go,

a multitude of students surrounds me

in an ocean of academic chaos.

I observe them in silence.

Some are consistently obnoxious,

like an alarm that goes off at six

that tempts me to smash it with aggressive fists.

Some scurry along,

while others choose to saunter to class.

Blatant, their attitudes scream,

“Look at me! I’m the epitome of coolness!”

Oh, how I’d like to push them

into the Reflection Pond at dawn.

In between classes, bustling bodies bombard each other.

They are war cannons competing for the danger zone

while I’m stuck in the masses, wailing for freedom.

My eyes glaze over torn designer apparel

wrapped in ever-decaying, deceiving human flesh.

Hoping for a sincere smile from a slick stranger

whose kindness is stronger than my reoccurring fears,

apparently, is the wrong way to make lasting acquaintances.

Here, I am not myself.

I am but one student among sixty thousand.

Impersonal transfer student with a junior status

trying to obtain a degree with my sanity still intact.

The largeness of this beloved higher institution threatens to derange me.

Survival is a must in this Hunger Game of academia.

So, as I take notes, complete homework assignments,

and shove my way through the sweaty bodies

of my fellow student-numbers, I can only hope

that the “odds are ever in my favor,”

as I strive to become more than just “2987186”.

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