18 AP Fives Zero Lives: Valedictory Protest Ballad - Lucas' Requiem 

18 AP Fives Zero Lives:
Valedictory Protest Ballad 

Lucas' Requiem

▶ They said, "You’re a—

(You're perfect student?)

(Now I’m a perfect... silence, silence.)

I was a role model, a résumé, a racehorse.

But never your child.

Only your checklist.

I took 18 APs — all fives, all flame,

But forgot how to breathe, forgot my name.

You framed my future in GPA stats,

While I was breaking in burnout traps.

You said, “Push through, grit your teeth,”

But I left my spirit underneath.

A+ on paper.

F-minus in soul.

Your praise was a scalpel,

Your system, the hole.

You cheered while I bled in fluorescent light,

Called me "resilient" when I gave up the fight.

Eighteen fives, zero lives—

You clapped while I drowned in academic lies.

Your brochure grin, my silent plea—

I just wanted space to be me.

Don’t call it failure — this was theft.

I gave my all, you took what’s left.

You said I’d rise — but I got lost.

In this Ivy game, I paid the cost.

Flashcards were my lullabies,

Tears drawn like warpaint under my eyes.

While you preached Musk, Jobs, and Gates,

I Googled “grief” and twist-of-fate debates.

You called it “grind.”

I called it “gone.”

While you scored metrics,

I faded at dawn.

You never noticed the shadows grow,

But I studied suicide like it was an elective, yo.

They lit candles inside keynote slides,

But skipped my name when the candle died.

You said: “College isn’t all that matters.”

Then branded it into every chapter.

Every club, each plastic prize—

A rigged audition for fake high-fives.

I smiled for you with a panic attack.

I clapped for classmates with my future cracked.

Eighteen fives — sounds like a win.

But burnout’s not on the Common App PIN.

My final essay? A funeral draft.

My last GPA? Ghost Per Acceptance.

(Heaven admitted me. No waitlist.)

Eighteen fives, zero lives!

You framed my coffin with school supply vibes.

No dorm move-in, no senior pride—

Just bouquets and “he had such drive.”

Don’t call it “sad” while sipping praise,

This grind machine dug my grave.

I didn’t fail — I ran out of fight.

While you ranked scores, I lost light.

You said the world would open wide.

But I was never taught to survive.

Don’t grade my silence.

Don’t frame my pain.

Don’t blame the storm—

You named the rain.

Lucas. And every blazer-clad ghost.

They didn’t give up—

They were given away.

This isn’t rebellion.

It’s a requiem.