In the Words of an IB Student...

 

Take the IB, they said.

It will be fun, they said.

 

Now another precious Saturday is over,

With little got done,

I'm sitting in front of the computer,

Entering the data for my lab report one by one.

 

I set the alarm early in the morning today,

Because Saturday and Sunday is no holiday.

They may be shaded on my calender gray,

But they are just like every school day.

 

The bright brilliant day outside,

And the wondrous things on the web, like Facebook,

Are incredibly alluring, but I must not abide,

Since I have not given my math questions a single look.

 

As if it knows,

The computer is reluctant to draw my graphs,

I need to calculate the uncertainties and the ratios,

But all I get from the data-collection software is bitter laughs.

 

There is a TOK essay waiting to be written by me,

Blank sheets gazing up, asking, "How do I know?".

I know, it's only 300 words and five comments, not fifty,

But why does it seem like I still have 1000 words to go?

 

Now I must stop writing this poem,

And dive back into the bottomless dark pit of position, velocity and acceleration,

I sincerely hope I'll get all my stuff done without becoming a victim,

Of the cruel IB and its high expectations.