Look at this stuff, isn’t it neat?
Wouldn’t you think my degree is complete?
Wouldn’t you think I’m the girl –
the girl has… a career?
Look at my bank, no treasures told.
How many loans can one girl hold?
Lookin’ around here you’d think –
sure, she’s got nothing.
I’ve got textbooks and debt aplenty.
I’ve got pencils and notebooks I won’t use.
You want finished papers?
That’s plagiarism.
But who cares?
I’m done now.
Fuck this shit.
I want to be
where the people are….
employed. I want to see,
wanna see ‘em working.
Walking around on those –
whadd’ya call ‘em? Oh, office floors.
Flipping through your books you don’t get too far.
Professors never use them anyways.
Strolling along down to –
What’s that word again? Bar.
Up where they work.
Up where they play.
Up where they try to get through the day.
Finally free.
Wish I could be.
Out of college.
What would I give
if I could live
away from my parents?
What would I pay
to find a nerd
to do my homework?
Betcha in dreams,
they understand
bet they don’t reprimand their students.
Bright young people,
sick of studying,
ready to graduate.
And I’m ready to know what the alumni know.
Ask ‘em my questions
and get no answers.
What’s a job and why does it –
what’s the word? Suck?
When’s it my turn?
Wouldn’t I love –
love to explore my new found freedom?
Too bad I’m broke.
Wish I could be
out of college.
Too bad I’m broke.
Wish I could be
out of college.
– Brittney Diesbourg
Oakland Arts Review 