you’re missing the antics of being a high school boy

yes. yes i am.
good.
i’m glad.
okay let’s start off here:
i am not a high school boy.
i am not a high school anything.
i am not high school.
i am not. i am not.
i am not anything.
i do not exist.
i am dust.
nothing is in my skull, i am instead
hollow
i am a burden
i am the biggest mistake
on the face of planet earth
and i am not in the mood
for the antics of being a high school boy.
the antics of being a high school boy
include the use of the word faggot.
faggot. faggot. faggot. faggot.
i am a faggot.
i am the biggest faggot ever.
i am the faggotiest faggot to ever faggot.
i’m such a faggot that i should hang
from a rope.
i am everything too.
i am nothing and i am everything.
i am simultaneously nothing and
everything, everything
i am a high school boy.
i am a high school whatever.
i am a high school faggot.
i am high school.
i am nothing.
i am not high school.
hi! school is great.
“do you like school?” he asks.
“not really,” i say.
he decided to stop in.
he seems to like me, at least a little
or he wouldn’t talk to me.
this is the same kid that said
that i am missing the beloved antics
of being a high school boy
like it was unspeakable
that i was not pretending to look for an airpod so i could fuck around in a room i was not supposed to be in
i told him “this shit is ridiculous. that’s why i’m missing it.”
he said, “sure, but so is this whole shithole.” and that’s when i asked me if i liked school.
his name is CJ.
he used to be able to read sheet music.
i know this because he looked at my rickroll drawn out in notes on the chalkboard and said he used to be able to read it.
he used to be in special ed, too.
he now wears shirts that say “i stand for the national anthem” and “blue lives matter”
and this poem has no direction
but my life has no direction
isn’t it fitting?
i’m sick. i feel really sick.
in all the ways one can be sick. i hate january. january sucks. i hate it i hate it i hate it so much
i love myself.
i am not a faggot.
i am a man that is ready for college
and i’m going to show all of these motherfuckers that they should have said hi to me, they should
have been close to me because they’re gonna be at the stage door with a playbill and want my
autograph and i’m gonna forget his name. i’m gonna say, “i’m sorry, who are you?”
and he, he who finally beat me out for a role in drama club, who cracks ableist and racist jokes but
it’s okay because he’s black and autistic so no one’s gonna tell him not to
i will forget his name
i will forget the name of every boy who partook in the antics of being a high school boy
the antics that i am so unfortunately missing out on
i am not a high school boy.
i am nothing and everything.
and i am staring you in the face right now.

cj walks out of the room and he says “well, see you around, rainer.” he seems genuine. but what the
fuck do i know about genuine?
i am rainer ochs pasca.
i am rainer fucking ochs fucking pasca.
i’ve been told recently to stop cursing.
fuck that. fuck that, fuck that.
i am everything. i am curses. i am midterm exams.
read my other poems for what else i am.
i must stop this poem or else no one will keep reading. no one is reading this. i am alone. i am alone.
i am always alone.
i sit back and i look at the rickroll i drew on the board. i drink green tea. i did alright. i lightly chuckle.
i did alright.

.

Sixth Period

The boys’ bathroom smells
like chemicals and smoke
and I am in a gravestone of life.
I am waiting for the fire alarm
to ring—

spray me with the holy water on the
floor! Refresh me with the scent of the
high school! Where am I in this moving
set piece? Where do I fit in here? or is
this desk simply too small

for me? The crushed vape pen on the
floor is still fuming, still waiting
for someone else to submit to the
galaxy—handing over fate to the gods
of detention. Kiss me with your

breath—it smells like corporate greed.
Lock the door and turn down the lights.
Mop the floor and start a fight. You are
waking up slowly
and when you realize that we are all

dust, I wonder where all that gravitas
will go. I wonder where all the slurs you
use will go—I wonder how your
thoughts will dissipate
into gases infused with nicotine

and I wonder just how many birds
they will kill in the process.

.

At 17, Rainer Pasca is already an award-winning actor, poet, and musician. On stage, Rainer has appeared in dozens of productions, including the Public Theatre’s 2018 Tony-nominated production of Twelfth Night at the Delacorte Theatre in Central Park, and won two Teeny Awards for his performances at Bay Shore High School. As a poet, Rainer has featured at numerous venues and had work published in a variety of journals. He was one of three Finalists for the inaugural position of Suffolk County Teen Poet Laureate in 2021 and was named Grand Champion for the 2023 Walt Whitman Birthplace Youth Poetry Contest. As a musician, Rainer has written, performed and produced three full-length albums and headlined numerous PRIDE festivals across Long Island. Rainer was named one of Newsday’s select Scholar-Artists for the 2022-2023 school year and received the League Foundation’s Tyler Clementi Memorial Scholarship for LGBTQ+ student activism. Rainer is currently in the BFA Theatre & Performance program at Emerson College in Boston. Find him on YOUTUBE and streaming platforms as RAINER & at IG as @rainerochsofficial