They say we’re not a statistic,
But their actions prove them wrong.
We’re numbers on a paper,
And we’ve all sung this song.
They want us to be special,
To stand out among the crowd,
But how is that realistic
When everyone’s so fantastic?
They want us all well-rounded,
Renaissance men in the making
To be impossibly amazing.
But don’t they understand that
Year after year after year,
The imaginary bar rises,
And those poor souls in the next class
Must take more, do more, be more.
Am I still human?
Or did this game morph me?
Into a slender number
That is easier to pick
From that magician’s hat?