Pimpled and spectacled

There’s nothing really remarkable about getting straight As you know. A few hundred other fellow grubs have that accolade to call their own. Besides they have other bonus accolades as well – extra subjects and additional distinctions. They stand above me by more than just a few pedestals. 

If you take a hard long look at me – at that pimpled, spectacled, forlorn, spiteful, self-conscious face effaced of life and blank with lethargy, you’ll know it’s nothing really remarkable. It’s really just a mark above the average. Besides, everyone else has already gone on and secured enrollment in venues of higher education. There’s nothing remarkable about a perfect score. None at all. 

The more you push, the more I’ll languish. It’s not even resistance against insistence. It’s just the heaviness of mediocrity I’ve resigned myself to. And the more I languish, the more, with an absolute totality of spirit and consciousness I’ll lose myself to it. 

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