As children, we feared that one dreadful day,
When our parents would see what our grades had to say.
The crumpled report cards, the scribbled red marks,
The cold, hard silence that pierced through the dark.

We’d sit in the kitchen, trembling and small,
Waiting for the verdict, a rise or a fall.
The weight of the grades, the mistakes we had made,
Like a shadow that stretched as our futures decayed.

Back then, it was simple: pass or fail,
A number on paper, a weight on the scale.
But now we’re grown, and the stakes have changed,
The tests are still there, but they’re rearranged.

There’s no more homework, no papers to write,
No grades on the fridge to be wrong or right.
But adulthood has its own set of rules,
A different kind of grade for the ones who’ve been schooled.

It’s the review, the meeting, the quarterly check,
The moment you wonder if you’re still on track.
Your boss with their clipboard, their questions precise,
Your heart racing fast as they ask, "What’s the price?"

Not just for your work, but for who you’ve become—
How well do you fit into what you’ve become?
Is your time worth the hours, your effort enough,
Or are you falling short, your path just too tough?

The fear is not failure, but of being unseen,...