Not My Kind Of Class Poem by The Feeling Poet Right2Write

I sit in math, my mind adrift,
Numbers dance, but none uplift.
In English class, the words just blur,
Similes, verbs — they start to slur.

History's dates? A ticking clock,
Each second feels like heavy rock.
Science talks of stars and cells,
But my heart's elsewhere — can't you tell?

I crave the buzz of circuits live,
Screwdrivers spinning, wires thrive.
Give me tools and engines loud,
Under hoods, I feel so proud

Let me build a wall that stands,
Hammer steady in my hands.
Fix a leak or wire a light,
That's the stuff that feels just right.

So while I yawn through books and rules,
I come alive with hands-on tools.
Not made for desks or silent halls —
I'm meant to build, to break down walls.