#desks
Notes passed in class:
Circle yes no or maybe.
Pages torn from diaries and journals:
Tonight I think I might love...
Haikus carved into the metal floor of the hole where your books are hidden during a quiz:
"School's a chore learning
2B a bore 4eva
while even ugly ducks soar"
Texts sent flickerfast explain why we're still fighting.
ME: And then you said...
YOU: I don't wanna read this ****
ME: OMFG this **** is what you said!
Emails from spambots clot inboxes with poems that are better than those from most flapping quills and tapping claws,
because they have no reason:
"Earstwhile Hardly asked an clocks raging spleeded
Pills pull grimy stovepots into a curdle stoop.
Click Here. Click Here. Click Here."
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 1:46 PM UTC
How the hell am I supposed to know
who I am?
We sit in rows.
I feel my creativity,
running away from the ideas I'm
supposed to have.
Why are people so persistent
about telling me what I'm supposed
to say;
and what I'm not.
The more I 'learn'
the less I know
about who I really am
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 10:25 AM UTC