IN A CHANG’AA DRINKING SPREE

(ONE ACT PLAY)

BY

ALEXANDER   K   OPICHO










CASTE
Advocate; self-styled advocate, his real job is insurance agent
Sampaza-changaa drunkard
Teacher-brother to Sampaza, also a changaa taker
Monica-changaa seller
Austeen-a lad, son to Monica
Watchman-changaa drunkard
Rono-friend to watchman
Njeri-friend to Monica, single mother
Atieno-friend to Monica, single mother
Driver- changaa taker and a smoker
Barasa-changaa taker and electrician
Ndhiwa- changaa taker, brother to barasa
Yator-changaa taker brother to barasa
Mavachi-changaa taker, with a fallen out wife
Mandila-relative to mavachi
Agnesi-wife to teacher
Music
*chang’aa is homemade alcoholic spirit consumed by the peasants in east and central Africa.




ACT ONE
In a slum area of Eldoret town, very many ramshackle muddy walled houses are seen; the setting takes place in the house of Monica the Changaa seller. There is low tone music humming from the DVD, playing Vincent Ongidi’s ‘mother is better than father.’
Music; Bakeni Nebekhale, bukula indika,
           Bukula indika samwana, Udimake kungeni
          Khusoko busia, bukula indika omusumba,
          Bakhwee nebechile, bukula indika
          Udimake khusoko yaya, bukula indika….
Driver; (dancing with a tumbler of chang’aa in his hand) let me dance! This is my best Sunday, let me dance, I am son of a woman. Sing! Sing! Sing! For us Vincent, you son of Ongidi, (pointing at the DVD).
Advocate; the problem you are only dancing with your class a half empty, moreover, you are not following the rhythm , I thought you dance to this song by shaking your shoulders, but instead you are gyrating your waistline.
Driver; (still dancing) let me dance because when I will go to the grave I will not get another chance to dance.
Advocate; (gulps from his tumbler) will you buy me chang’aa of ten shillings?
Driver; let me finish dancing first, I will see what to do about it.
(Enters Sampaza and teacher, as music goes off)
Sampaza; why are you dudes stopping the music on my entering?
Driver; it is not us who have stopped the music; you go and ask Vincent Ongidi why he did not sing a long song.
Sampaza; (sits at the old couch) where is Monica?
Driver; you burn us a cigarette before you ask for Monica, were you not with Monica upto the mid of last night?
Sampaza; why were you spying on me upto the mid of the night?
Advocate; (to Driver) give Sampaza time to introduce his friend to us
Sampaza; (to teacher) sit on this stool, forget about this drunkards.
Teacher; will this stool not break and sent me down like humpty dumpty? (Shakes the stool and sits on it)
Sampaza; It cannot even Monica herself sits on it and she is more huge than you do
Advocate; (to Sampaza) this is your brother?
Sampaza; now listen all off you
All; Sampaza we are listening to you all of us
Sampaza; had I killed our mother, he could not have born, (pointing to teacher).
Driver; if someone had not told me, there is no way I could know that this man is your brother. You are totally different from one another. Look, he is fat, strong, clean, well shaven and groomed brown and is like he took a bathe in the morning before he came here to chang’aa place, but you Sampaza tell us when you last washed your clothes? Even forget of washing your body.
Sampaza; (to driver) if you want to beg chang’aa from teacher just beg without using your desperate tricks of false praises.
Advocate; but me, I could easily know that teacher is a brother to Sampaza by simply comparing the shape of their heads, they look alike.
Teacher; who is serving chang’aa today?  I want to buy some for you guys.
Driver; it is Austeen, let me call him for you (goes at the door shouting) Austeen! Austeen! Aha! This boy is as earless as a female monitor lizard, (comes back) I have called him for you.
Teacher; thanks, let me believe he won’t take time, I am really thirsty.
Advocate; you can mitigate your thirst with this one of mine (gives teacher a tumbler).
Teacher; (sips) it was not a bad stuff (passes the tumbler to Sampaza)
Sampaza; (takes a full swig) uhm! The stuff is really the tears of the lion.
(Enters Austeen)
Austeen; My God, Sampaza is here again! Sampaza, why did you run away with my money last time? You take the beer and run away, even you made my mother to quarrel me yester night.
Driver; (to Austeen) you boy manage your mouths, don’t you see Sampaza is the age of your mother?
Austeen; wait! Sampaza must give me the money, give me the money you Sampaza!
Teacher; let me pay for him, how much was it?
Austeen; imagine Sampaza took off running into the darkness of the night after taking chang’aa of fifty shillings. Imagine a whole tumbler of fifty shillings.
Teacher; that was bad, Sampaza you did something very bad. You know Monica is a single parent and you run away with her money. This chang’aa is like Monica’s husband, so please let us be honest and pay our bills;
Austeen ;( to teacher) are you paying for Sampaza?
Teacher; yes, but before that; pour a tumbler of chang’aa worthy fifty shillings for each of these elders, including Sampaza. I am going to pay that one myself. But serve me with a tumbler of chang’aa that goes for a hundred shillings. May be it can quench my thirst.
Driver; brother you are a man (shakes teacher’s hand).
Austeen; (to Advocate) stand up for some minutes; I want to remove a grenade from your chair.
Advocate; you mean I was just sitting on the tears of the lion?
Austeen; yes (he fishes out a yellow plastic container, feels each tumbler as required).
Sampaza; you boy! What are you doing? Fill my tumbler to the brim, why are you now conning me off my chang’aa?
Austeen; (politely) Sampaza listen, you know my hands always shake when I am holding something. I didn’t want to spill chang’aa by struggling to fill your tumbler to the brim.
Teacher; (sipping, closing his eyes) Austeen now play for us another music.
Driver; yaah! The music, play for us Marashi ya karafu.
Austeen; my mother has not yet bought the DVD for Marashi ya karafu, let me play for you this one (shows him the DVD), it will thrill you to your bone marrow, (inserts the DVD in to the player).
Music ;( playing) ukiwa wa enda nyubani kwangu heee,
                          Umwambie stella mimi  sitakucha,
                         Umwambie stella mimi nimefungwa jela,
                      Anisalie mtoto mama nitaleaaaa!
Driver; ndio hiyo! (Stands up to gyrate his waist swiftly) that is my best song from Tanzania. How I wish I was still in prison on Christmas day of last year.
Sampaza; (sipping at his tumbler) if you want to be in prison go and make love to your goat and call people to help you.
Driver; look at you, with all this women, why should I go for a goat?
Sampaza; (standing up to dance, shaking his shoulders) because you want to be in
Prison.
Austeen; (giggling and shouting) look! Look! Look at Sampaza, he does not know how to dance, he is waving his hands like wings of a chicken.
Sampaza; you dance and I see (daring Austeen)
Austeen ;( dancing) look! Look! Fire! Fire! Fire! (He goes to sit)
All; (laughing loudly and clapping) Austeen! Austeen!
Advocate; this boy Austeen, became old while in his mother’s womb
                     (Enters Monica, Rono and watchman)
Driver; here comes Monica, (provokes Monica for a dance, they both dance).
Advocate; (joins Monica and driver to dance) Monica! Monica! Daughter of Zinjathropus, Waa!
Monica; I am an early woman, yaani! Womanopithecus africanus (dancing).
Driver ;( pushing away advocate), dance away from here, why are you bringing here this evil smelling sweater of yours?
Advocate; I am sorry.
Driver; that is empty jealousy, you only saw Monica’s pelvis touching mine and you jumped here to disrupt my gusto.
                               (Music stops and they all get sited)
Monica; (to Austeen) give watchman and his friend chang’aa of twenty bob, I will pay myself.
Austeen; yes mama (serves watchman and Rono chang’aa)
Rono; Kongoi, I mean thank you Monica, you are such a generous woman? (Takes a full swig).
Monica; Karibu, don’t mind I am always and I will be always an early woman.
Sampaza; (to watchman) when you came in I thought you were the crow.
Watchman; (sipping) who? Me, I was a policeman ten years ago but I was ******.
Driver; (to Sampaza) this man is not a muriakole, he is not a cop. This is a D.D.O.
Advocate; meaning?
Driver; daily drinking officer, hmmm! The DDO.
All; laughing loudly.
Monica; (to advocate) how is your brother and his witchdoctor of a wife?
Advocate; Monica, just keep quiet, my brother is in problems.
Monica; which problems? I told him to marry me and he refused because I did not have book education.  I am now making more money from chang’aa in a day than even he does from his education. Let that man, that brother of yours, chew the full scale of his misfortune. Now tell me which problem has he?
Advocate; today very early in the morning I heard my brother screaming, of course from his house. Out of anxiety I rushed there to find out what was happening. Jesus! What I so…..
Driver; what was it? Just say.
Monica; a man has nothing to fear just say.
Teacher; where is Austeen?
Austeen; I am here
Teacher; serve each of us chang’aa of fifty shillings, start with him (pointing at the advocate) give Monica, your mother a tumbler, that one of a hundred shillings.
Austeen ;( serving as he sings) how long will they ****,
              Our brothers, while we stand watching them,
                Redemption songs, Bob Marley! Sons of ghetto!
Sampaza; Austeen you are always not measuring my chang’aa to the money given, now look, does this grasshoppers spittle qualify to be chang’aa of fifty shillings?
Austeen; Sampaza, I told you my hands are not steady, they always shake whenever I am holding something.
Sampaza; (to Monica) I will bring a medicine man to give some manyasi to this son of yours, so that he stops shaking his hands like an epileptic.
Monica; Sampaza, you drink your chang’aa and to hell with your medicine-man. Let us listen to what happened to the brother of advocate.
Advocate; now, as I was saying I found my brother’s wife had swollen my brothers ***** to its base, the ***** was full deep in her mouth, my brother was screaming but the was dead silent ******* the *****, her teeth tightly gripping it at the same time.
All; laughing loudly
Teacher; Maybe it was oral ***, but not domestic violence
Monica; oral ***!?
Teacher; yes, it is possible
Advocate; but why was he crying?
Monica; because his wife was ******* his *****
Teacher; that is the case
Advocate; if at all it was pleasurable then why was my brother screaming?
Teacher;  maybe he was on ******* ecstasy, the same way a woman can be when you suckle or even ****** her *****.
Monica; but I can’t allow a man to suckle the eye of my breast.
Driver; even me, I can’t suckle my wife
Teacher; why?
Driver; even also, in my culture, one is not allowed to suckle a woman’s ****
Teacher; is that sexuology or culture?
Watchman ;( to driver) yes, answer that! Answer that question from teacher.
Monica; but it is only a foolish woman who can allow a man to suckle her *****, or if she can then she is not serious with that man.
Teacher; (to Monica) then which man do you like? Sampaza?
Monica; Me do love Sampaza?
Teacher; yes, Sampaza
Monica; this Sampaza, is always as miserable as a corpse in the grave without a coffin.
Advocate; you are as miserable as a corpse in the grave without a coffin.
Sampaza; I am not, I know am great
Teacher; yes, and capable to love the early woman like Monica.
Sampaza; (to Austeen) play for us some better music.
Austeen; which one mama? Which music can I play?
Monica; play for them Pamela Nkutha (sings) Nakula ebusi,
                  Nakula ewunwa, lalalaa! Lalalaa! Laaaa!
Austeen; Mama, that one we don’t have. Let me play for them Brenda *****.
Music; (playing) Songea nikubambe, songea nikubusu,
                          Nakupenda, nakubusu ehee monica eheee!
Austeen; Kula Ngoma; he who does not have chic let him embrace a stone (exits)
All; (dancing violently) Monica! Monica waaaaaaa!
Watchman; (dancing) Sampaza can you suckle the ***** of a woman?
Sampaza; ask driver that question.
Driver; I cannot suckle the ***** of my wife.
Teacher; I depend with nature of a woman you are in the bed with.
Watchman; correct , some women has fallen ******* like chapattis, but if a chic has ***** and pointed breast, I  can ****** and suckle her like nothing else in this world. I can even suckle her *******.
Teacher; by the way, ******* are the fountain of pleasure to a woman, when you suckle her she will just moan; Sampaza! Sampaza! Sampazaaaaa!
All; laugh raucously
Monica; these men are drunk.
Driver; no, they are now happy, pick one of them for yourself.
Monica; the man that I can love now must be having a death certificate.
Teacher; what does it mean? Me I thought you need a dark skinned man like Sampaza, you know the dark the skin of a man the greater the ****** pleasure ehee…
                       (Enters Njeri and Atieno)
Njeri; Monica, are you not aware that were are late for Chama? Look you are still *****, you have not even combed you hair.
Monica; Njeri come in why are rioting at the door, look at Atieno she is as miserable as usual.
Njeri; she was flogged by the husband.
Atieno; (to Njeri) you! Watch your mouths, I don’t have a husband.
All; laugh, (Njeri and Atieno sits).
Sampaza; look at this one (pointing to Njeri) can I give you some money so that you do me a favour.
Njeri; which favour?
Sampaza; of this…(Makes a sign of *** with his fist).
Njeri; I don’t sleep with chang’aa drunkards
Atieno; even me
Sampaza; (staggering, and then falling on Njeri’s laps) I want! Truly I want!
Advocate; Sampaza is drunk, let me take him home (pulls Sampaza).
Sampaza; (resisting, avoiding to be pulled out by advocate) leave me alone! You thief! You are an insurance thief! Who told you that you are an advocate? You are not! You want to steal my money. No, all these people are thieves, Monica is a big thief, and they want to steal my brother’s money!  Teacher! Come out of here! This is a den of pickpockets! They will still your wallet, come we go! Thieves! Thieves!
                        (Advocate pulls Sampaza out, as they both exit)
Driver; Sampaza does not have manners.
Njeri; Imagine he fell on my laps, what if my husband found him?
Monica; He would have now divorced you for eating rats.
Njeri; When I have not eaten any rat, it was only a drunkard supporting himself on my legs.
Atieno; he has spoken a lot of words.
Driver; and all the words were total lies.
Monica; no, whatever is in the inner heart of a sober man is always on the tongue of the drunkard man.
Teacher; to mean what? Anyway, forget about Sampaza.
Watchman; by the way
Rono; I am also off my senses, I am seeing each of you having seven heads, and the heads are a

teacher teacher, oh no what have you done as a college girl? What did you do to disgrace your families name? what regrets do you hold, if any? What mistakes did you make? is that man in the uniform as truly honorable as the uniform makes him look? Should I care for that man, respect him because of the tittle he carries, because of the tittle I was told he earned? Should  look up to that man in your little picture frame because he s gone, what things did he truly do or for that matter didn't do? oh my teacher teacher, I have so many questions but, it is not my place to ask but only, to ponder. For my teacher what will become of you, once you leave will my peers remember you for the way you taught, or for your picture frame, which would you want to be remembered for? oh my teacher teacher, I cannot help but wonder what will you move on to? Or wha did that man mean to you, what did he represent, obsessiveness, or smiles or even tears? oh teacher teacher, what secrets do you hold? oh my teacher teacher, why do you do what you do, do you regret this here occupation? oh my teacher teacher all I want is a glimpse of your brain for you are all to complexing than any boy I have yet to me, so dear me me my teacher teacher what is it you withhold , an ending or a chance? or fr that matter is is neither? of my dear teacher teacher, what is it you ponder?

Teacher teacher
Teacher, teacher I want to know can we go to the moon.
Teacher teacher I want to know can we go to the zoo.
Teacher teacher I want to go to lunch.
Teacher teacher will you please answer me.
Teacher teacher I have to go ***.

And the yarn starts when I was in fourth standard on 9th February,2007 at St.Carmel Convent School (Jorhat,Assam,India) where I was just known as a ‘infirm’ student and not by my name.
Not that incident,date or time but that person changed me into a better human. For the first time when a person made me feel special. For the first time a philosophical kid was loving to hear the frail taunts about herself. For the first time she was apt to sit alone at recesses time. And for the first time she was being treated vulnerable.
                                                  “First impression is the last impression”  
And this so true. No impression was more resonant than my Teacher. Even today she remains vivacious in my soul and in my world.
                             “Teaching is not a service, profession or a job. It is a pillar of the society”
Well,my narration starts in class four when the whole class was just at verge of reciting the morning prayer at school. But just then my computer teacher entered, requesting my class teacher to standby the prayer and said:
                                                “Excuse me Reena teacher,where is Randhir”?
I raised my hand from my position. She passed a beam and said:
                                                             “Happy Birthday to you”
It was just from that day I realized that she too had her Birthday on the same date. And every now and then we celebrated our Birthday’s together.
No matter how much I was discriminated emotionally and mentally. No matter I failed to give good result to my other teachers. No matter I was being teased. All that matters was and is my teacher’s appreciation towards me. How being a kid I was cohered to this world. At a very tender age I knew the difference between the good and evil. I faced the agony of being a lame student, of being a pale figure in my friend circle. But one person who made my school life memorable is than that of my dearest Sobha Bothra Pincha Teacher. No boon of a child in her life, black hairs are turning into grey but her nature seems everlasting for all her students because she is and had been a great motherly figure. Her words to me:
                                               “Help me to keep the smile on my face”
And I am following her words. From her I get the strength to give respect to all my teachers who have crossed my way. Not a single teacher is untouched by my loving gratitude that I owe. Some students celebrate teacher’s day on 5th September, I celebrate it everyday. And today I am glad to hear the applaud from my teacher’s not for my good results but for being a good Student. For once I regretted. Today I have no regret because I take pride in being taught from my Sobha Teacher.
Dear teacher your advice, wisdom and teachings will remain engraved in my life. Good teachers teach because they are passionate about teaching. Great teachers like you, teach to make the world a better place.
If I am successful in any way today, be a good daughter, a good friend, a good consoler, a good sister, a good person or a good student. I owe all and all to you Sobha teacher. And if I am able to write this in the honor of you it because you taught me the value of letters. All these years I kept asking and you kept giving. Now I think its time I started giving back and it all begins with two simple words-
                                                                        “Thank you”

Teacher, teacher I want to know can we go to the moon.
Teacher teacher I want to know can we go to the zoo.
Teacher teacher I want to go to lunch.
Teacher teacher will you please answer me.
Teacher teacher I have to go ***

To all the teachers who have let me down, to the teachers who made me feel isolated and alone for all the teachers who made me lose faith in the education system and caused me to believe that my strengths werent nearly as large as my weaknesses, to the teachers who have made me feel like my only purpose for living was to get good grades. I want you to know how you made me feel.
To the health teacher sophomore year who during the ****** education unit ignored my inquiries about safe *** in same *** relationships and then proceeded to tell me that my questions were innapropriate and that i was too young to be asking that, i want you to know that hearing that was a slap in the face to me. Hearing that sent 16 year old me so far back into the closet that i couldnt see any ounce light. I could not see a reason to be hopeful because you deemed my sexuality as wrong and made me feel like i was alone, i want you to know that it took me 2 years after that to understand that my feelings were not something to be ashamed of and it took me a week and google to find the responses to the questions you refused to answer.
To the chemistry teacher who told my counselor that i am a ******* addicted drug user and never even had the nerve to ask me why my hands shake, i want you to know that i have a disorder called essential tremor and my shaking is something that took me years to embrace. I want you to know that your assumptions stole the years of confidence i had built up in the acceptance of my disability and made me feel targeted and insignificant, if only you had simply just asked me then you would have saved me the loss. To the same teacher who made me sit out in the hall for the whole hour long class period because i talked while you were talking, i want you to know how ****** that feels. To any teacher who sends students in the halls, know that there is nothing worse than isolation and that making your students sit out in the hallway wont do anything but make them feel the pangs of loneliness and embarrasment.
To the spanish teacher with the bad temper who always took the time to complain and point out my mistakes, i want you to know that it never helped me learn anything and for someone who preaches tolerance amd respect i think its ironic that you made students feel so bad to the point where theyd leave your class crying. I want you to know that i tried my hardest to get your approval and never got it at all. But even though there have been those who have let me down, there have also been those who have brought me up. There have been those who have pulled me out of the deepest of slumps and showed me how to be brave.
To the math teacher who was more like a mother to me, a really cool one at that, who had awesome taste in music and understood that intelligence is not defined by grades, i want you to know that even though i hated math, walking into your class always made my day a little bit better. I want to thank you for understanding me and teaching me to try even when my attitude was ****. Im lucky to have met you because if i hadnt, i wouldnt have so much motivation.
To the theatre teacher who i met before highschool even started, i want you to know that you are the person who guided me to where i am today. And even when i cant find the words to say how i feel, you always know how to lead me to them. You were like a father to me when my own father was sick and for that i will always be appreciative.
To the theatre teacher who i can say without a doubt saved my life, who brought my out of the darkness and helped me see light, who understood all of the issues going on in my life, i owe my life to you. Meeting you was something that i am forever grateful for. You always know how to make me feel better and less alone and when i feel like im falling down you always help pick me back up. You're the only teacher who can see when im not okay and the only one who i can share with why im feeling that way, you're the only teacher that still manages to inspire me everyday and make me laugh at the same time. Thank you can't even begin to explain how much you have changed my life.
Ive learned that teachers have a bigger impact on kids than we think, they can affect them so much even in even the little things, ive learned that the things that teachers do can either inspire or haunt you for the rest of your life and its important that teachers understand that school is not the only thing in a students life, its important to understand that in just a day a teacher could either save someone or break someone. Empathy is the most important key that a teacher should hold because if you can make someone feel less alone, then youre doing it right.

All through double science Sheila thought about the boy shed seen go by that mid-morning break not that hed looked at her too much or responded to her shy smile but she thought of him even to the degree of inking in his name on her small palm John scribbled there in black smudgy ink and she thought he had looked at her he seemed to look at her the way he had turned his head indicated to her at that time that he had and the science teacher talked of something to do with gases and she copied what he had written on the board into her exercise book in her minute scribble with her head to one side has she did while writing her arm at an angle her small hand gripping the pen in an odd fashion he had smiled yes she was sure John had smiled as she had smiled she sighed softly her eyes lifted to the blackboard to take note of what was written her hands scribbled her mind wanted to think of the boy with the quiff of hair the smile yes yes he had smiled and she wanted to stand up and say HE SMILED AT ME as loudly as she could but she never would she was not that type of girl a elbow nudged her the girl next to her nudged her and nodded towards the blackboard the teacher was pointing out something and asked her a question and Sheila had not heard him ask her the teacher was staring towards her expectantly she blushed sorry Sir didnt hear the question she muttered looking at the board and then at the teacher who seemed put out then listen girl listen he said then pointing to another to answer the question he repeated and Sheila still blushing looked at the girl next door and shrugged her thin shoulders the girl looked at her blankly and looked away she looked ta the blackboard and read it through slowly as she could taking note what had been written about gases and she stifled a yawn and looked back at the exercise book and what she had written in her scribbled handwriting she looked at the inner page where she had scribble John and drew a heart-shape with an arrow through it she held the page open just enough for her to see it then opened the book to wait for further instruction regarding gases the teacher walked along in front of the class pointing to the blackboard and indicating a diagram he had drawn Sheila wondered if the boy allow her to hang around with him after all she had seen other girls walk round with the boys either in groups or singly why couldnt she? she asked herself sitting up and staring out of the windows at the grass and the blue of sky over the way and what if he said yes how would she feel then would she walk with him or would she feel too shy to  and then all of a sudden she panicked what if he wanted to kiss her as shed other boys do with girls actually kiss on the lips sort of thing and shed never ever kissed a boy before not even her brother Bert a panicky feeling crept into her stomach what then? what if he wanted to kiss her a piece of chalk pinged onto the desk in front of her and the girl next to her elbowed her again SHEILA are you with us today? the teacher asked bellowing her name out of frustration she nodded and blushed again have you been listening? he asked yes Sir she said what did I ask? he said she stared at him blood pumped through body as if she was on fire and she shrugged as words wouldnt come see me after class he said and walked along the front of the class and asked another a boy with his hand raised she watched the teacher and listened to what he was saying about gases and types of gases and the affects and effects and so on and she felt the need to yawn but put her hand over her mouth and let it out secretly as softly as she could she smelt her palm then gazed at the word John scribbled there and with her lips kissed the inked name as if it was he she kissed her lips on his and she felt spittle on her palm and wanted to leave it there so she could pretend it was his spittle and not hers she looked up at the teacher and tried to give the impression of paying attention to his every word the boy had his hand up again as a question was asked and the teacher nodded and smiled then just as she prepared herself for any potential question that may come her way-God forbid- a bell rang for the end of the lesson and a sense of release flowed through her despite having to have stay and see the teacher afterwards there was a movement of books being put into bags and chairs being moved and voices and talking and the slow moving of bodies towards the door but the teacher was eyeing her as she moved towards him her book tucked away in her bag her palm clenched into a loose fist to hide the scribbled John in her palm she stood before the teachers desk and he stared at her sternly Sheila have you something on your mind? she shook her head feeling the need at that moment almost suddenly to urinate well you certainly were not paying attention to the lesson were you? he asked something worrying you? he asked she was going to say something but she didnt know what to say she couldnt say she was thinking of a boy and about if or not he was going to want to kiss her so she said nothing just shrugged her thin shoulders and gave a vacant expression-an expression her mother said indicated a near death experience-you must pay attention the teacher said I am paid to teach you as well as the others the sciences and I feel it is my duty to do my best to do that do you understand? she nodded taking note of the leather patches on the elbows of his jacket brown and sewn on maybe she thought by his wife or mother now please listen Sheila or youll get behind with the lessons Ok? she nodded and he dismissed her and she walked towards the door wondering if the boy would be on the playing field during lunch recess and if she had the nerve to ask him if she could hang around with him and if he would want to kiss her and o my God she thought panicking what if he did and she blushed at the thought and moved along the corridor amongst moving throng of other kids on their way to lunch or home and a bite to eat and she stood thinking of the boy gazing at her black shoed feet.

A teacher: The Villain and the Hero
One inspiration, one true motivation  
That one person who gives his powerful students  
The right direction
That one teacher who fights for the future of others
Who finds success in the success of others
That one person who further form a teacher
Is a human-being
He might seem like a villain to some
But he is a hero to others
He is my hero

Picked me up from the gutter
Made me strong enough to deal with
X equals A to the second power multiplied times two
He is that one teacher who taught me how to leave problems behind
And solve equation easier and faster
That one teacher who became a role model
The perfect inspiration any student needs
His way of teaching the concept  
His way of giving us the chance to be teachers our selves  
That way of making us the main importance
His way of giving us our place in his class room

Taking possession of our minds and changing them to capable ones
Making each and every one of us students who can solve anything
He expects a lot from all of us, He expects a lot from me
He gives me the challenges that I can handle
Gives me a chance to prove my self
He taught me that X is just a variable
That X is the solution
That you should not be afraid of the variable  
That the solution is hidden behind the other factors
That lesson I use in my daily life

I'm not afraid of any problem in any subject
Because he taught me how to deal with problems
And when finding X was hard,
He was there ready to answer my questions
As I walk away during lunch  
I wish him a good lunch
But what I'm actually saying is
You have done a lot for these, your students
Now give yourself a break and do something for your self.

He might just be an algebra teacher
Or a staff member at Riverside University High school
Or just Mr. Sepulveda, to some people
But for me he means more than that.
For me he is a hero
That can travel the distance
And can fix any problem with time
He is the Hero who inspires me  

He is a teacher
Whom I admire greatly
Not for being a teacher
Or being at Riverside
I admire him because he made me strong
In Algebra
In my problems
In life  
And now In my poetry

You sometimes are the villain
For giving me a B in a test
But you are the hero because for every B
I get another challenge  
And I know that with your help
I will get an A in Life.  
You are the Villain of my mind
But the Hero of my Heart
Thank-you Mr. Sepulveda
Written by: Estrella Luciano
For: A true hero
P.S. I still think I deserved an A on that one test. ;)

My art teacher used to say.
“Don’t add the black paint until you’re ready for a finished product”
and I never listened.
So I painted with my black paint
a little too soon,
a little too much,
a little too dark,
a little too passionate,
a little too addicted,
to the night,
I always enjoyed the starry sky.
My art teacher used to say
“Keit, I know that you love her, I see it, you two are my favorite couple”
and I never listened.
So I broke her heart at night
as she gripped her chest
while I did,
as she hid her heart
while I bit,
as she held her tongue
while I kissed,
as she ran from me,
while I chased.
I always enjoyed the lustful parts,
but I miss the gentle parts more.
My art teacher used to say.
“black is dominance,
black is overwhelming,
and black is torture,
but black must be controlled”
but I never listened.
Because it never made much sense, I didn’t make much sense of anything except for her. I tried to make sense out of a human being, my human being. A lover, my lover, and you know what the trust it all about?
People don’t make sense.
Love has no sense of direction.
People are chaotic.
Love is chaos.
People are nature’s kiss,
Love, the lips.
People are timeless.
Love is timed.
She was natural.
I was the ******* disaster.
There is a quote out there that goes,
and you’ll know why people are named after storms, why hurricanes are named after girls and you know what?
She wasn’t any of those things,
I was.
I was the earthquake that
shook her buildings down
and they crashed into her heart;
that explains the cracks.
I was the wildfire that
burnt through her magical forest
and the rabbit lost more time;
that explains Alice in wonderland.
I was the calm eye of the storm that
had one sweet angle and 20 more reasons to **** her over;
my insides said I love you,
but my outsides and I hate you
that explains the obsession,
this hopeless romantic poetry *******.
I was a flood,
and her eyes the land,
her eyes the gates,
her eyes the drowned city.
I was the big bang,
and her soul the many universes
within universes, the many stars
followed by comet showers,
the wishing stars that never came true,
the first time the moon met the sun,
love at first sight, forever separated,
the moon crashing into the sun,
night and dat never being one
until dawn came and twilight clouds
rained her name and my name
was shot across the enos of lightyears
and no one hears my scream in space
except for her an she does care,
but these type of blackholes
**** up everything!
They destroy everything,
a still painting dripping with black paint and I wanted to lover her
and all of this time I thought
that she was the black paint,
but it was me, who was the paint.
And I took all of her light,
a black hope in space
kissing the suns of my theory
one last time,
into the darkness they went
and back to the darkness
that they came from.
And my art teacher used to say
“Don’t add the black paint until you’re ready for the finished product.”
I finally listened.
So I let go of her a few days ago.
I told myself that I needed to stop.
Stop talking to her like she was
the sunset we all adored
and how her eyes meant the world,
and it it meant that she’d wink
butterflies into the pit of my stomach,
I’d die as a self-imploding star.
So I stopped myself from being
more black paint, I crossed out
her face with my own fingers
and kissed her one last time.
My art teacher used to say
“because this black is undoing, you cannot paint over it with white the black is so dense, it’s raw, it’s real it stops all hints of color under it over and over it. Because this is art and art is life, art is poetry and art is love, because art it everything and anything”
So I became the nights she had to sleep alone, so I became the nights I cried to sleep, so I became free from her love and I finally understood my art teacher, I finally understood my ex.
“Black paint is the purest color and lightest of color if used correctly with the right amount of care and tender”
Add a little black with white
and you’ll have grey.
Add a little black with red
and you you’ll have my bleeding heart.
and a little black and blue
and you’ll have her bruised lips.
And a little black with yellow
and you’ll have her eye color.
add a little black to my soul,
and you’ll have lust.
Add a little black to my heart,
and you’ll have her.
And I could swear I head my art teacher say.
“You’ll let go of her one day when you’re ready, you’ll add red aver all of your paintings because they’ll remind you of her lips, it’ll be you favorite color, you’ll ad blue over your roses because red has too much passion, it’s on fire and sometimes we have to appreciate the beauty of weirdness, poetry and art is weird, the best kind, you’ll add pale yellow for her skin tome and you’ll add dark, dark brown near lonely tree trunks because it’ll remind you of her eyes that cried every night because you didn’t know how to love, young kids finding slipped pants unhooked bras more satisfying than adding black paint to solidify a relationship that could’ve been, and you’ll add your last drop, the finishing touch, you’ll be the black paint, and she’ll be the finished product.”
And I finally listened.
I finally listened to art teacher.
So I let you of, baby.
The world is your canvas
and I was the black paint.
His lips your new black paint,
and you, his unfinished product.

On the first day of christmas my teacher gave to me
1 essay

On the second day of christmas my teacher gave to me
2 major projects
1essay

On the third day of christmas my teacher gave to me
3 text books
2 major projects
1 essay

On the fourth day of  christmas my teacher gave to me
4 journals
3 text books
2 major projects
1 essay

On the fifth day of christmas my teacher gave to me
5 binders
4 journals
3 text books
2 major projects
1 essay

On the sixth day of christmas my teacher gave to me
6 pencil bags
5 binders
4 joournals
3 text books
2 major projects
1 essay

On the seventh day of christmas my techer gave to me
7 laptops
6 pencil bags
5 binders
4 journals
3 text books
2 major projects
1 essay

On the eighth day of christmas my teacher gave to me
8 calculators
7 laptops
6 pencil bags
5 bingers
3 text books
2 major projects
1 essay

On the nineth day of christmas gave to me
9 work sheets
8 calculators
7 laptops
6 pencil bags
5 binders
4 journals
3 text books
2 major projects
1 essay

On the tenth day of christmas my teacher gave to me
10 mircoscopes
9 work sheet
8 calculators
7 laptops
6 pencil bags
5 binders
4 journals
3 text books
2 major project
1 essay

On the eleventh day of christmas my teacher gave to me
11 math problems
10 mircoscopes
9 work sheets
8 calculator
7 lap tops
6 pencil bags
5 binders
4 journals
3 text boooks
2 major projects
1 essay

On the 12 day of christmas teacher gave to me
12 test tubes
11 math problems
10 mircoscope
9 work sheets
8 calculators
7 lap tops
6 pencil bags
5 binders
4 journals
3 text books
2 major projects
1 essay

Teacher preacher while I have your attention can you please take a seat

Teacher preacher I need an explanation
I'm not allowed to think and I feel like a patient

Teacher preacher how do you expect me to sit and listen
When earlier this morning mom and dad were arguing in the kitchen

Teacher preacher I haven't learned anything new since the fourth grade
All this time, I swear it seems like my consciousness is starting to fade

The **** you teach us doesn't even matter
Long as we graduate, go to college, climb the ladder
But without your full attention our entire future will shatter

Teacher preacher you're supposed to be here to shape my mind
Teacher preacher it's time to take a step back and let me shine

Teacher preacher I've had a rough day
But you yell at me when I try to hide in my hats shade

Teacher preacher these are the last words on the page
Teacher preacher I'm your puppet and this is your stage

He was a young lad and in the fourth grade
Struggling hard for the grades he made.
Everything he tried seemed to vanish in the air
For he could not read and there was no one to care.

The teacher made fun of the young boy’s plight
No compassion, understanding, was ever in sight.
The days were filled with doubt and fear
He was told to repeat grade four next year.

Starting the fourth the second time around
A new school, a new teacher, made his heart pound.
For the world to see, on the card it came
The very first day he had to spell his name.

J - E - E - R - Y came out of the pen
The letters did appear to be correct just then.
The teacher bent close and whispered in his ear
“One E and two R’s, I think you meant dear.”

He fell in love with the teacher that day
She knew his heart and just what to say.
She knew the pain that the young boy felt
And all the embarrassment the past year dealt.

Miss Hagness, the angel, had come to his aid
He sensed her love and was no longer afraid.
Like the gentle Shepherd, reaching down from above
She taught him to read by her affection and love.

He went on to college to prepare for a life
Giving to help others with trouble and strife.
Pastor Jerry’s the Shepherd of many a heart
With love and compassion from the fourth grade did start.



===============================================
Teacher­ Part II
The story told in verse is about my pastor. It is about the struggles of a lad who was ridiculed in school because of a reading disorder called dyslexia. It is about how the system would have let him sink into oblivion but for the personal interest of a young teacher who came into his life the second time he went through the fourth grade. A teacher who had compassion in her heart for the boy and helped him discover the talents that lay hidden deeply within him. The talents that allowed God to develop within him, developed a compassion for others and a giving of himself first as a youth pastor for many years and then for the first time as a senior pastor.

It is also a story of how indifference toward others can lead to destruction of a young mind to the point of total loss of self worth. It is about the deep wounds that can be inflected by the harsh words we speak. Such words can never be retrieved from the abyss of time. How many times do we fail to see or ignore what we see because it does not conveniently fit into our schedule and in the process, contribute in the destruction of a life?

If we are teachers, mentors, leaders, or just breathing, we can share the pain of others to ease their burdens and encourage them in the difficult times. As we share the pain of others, we gain the right to share the joy in their triumphs and successes.

The story came from a message delivered on Sunday morning May 1, 1999. The poem wrote itself from the words spoken in that message. Can we do anything less than what the young teacher did for the boy? As God leads us, let us listen to the still small voice. The voice may be the voice of a child pleading for help, the voice of our Father directing each of us in the path we must travel. Be ever aware of the opportunities that God lays in our path. Maybe just doing only what is required and not seeing beyond ourselves we miss seeing the potential of a young mind. Could this be the greatest disservice we could do to our Father?

Oh God, give me the wisdom to see the promise and potential in others and be led by Your hand in molding the young mind.

It is written, “Though you have done it unto the least of these, you have done it unto me.”

Teacher preacher while I have your attention can you please take a seat

Teacher preacher I need an explanation
I'm not allowed to think and I feel like a patient

Teacher preacher how do you expect me to sit and listen
When earlier this morning mom and dad were arguing in the kitchen

Teacher preacher I haven't learned anything new since the fourth grade
All this time, I swear it seems like my consciousness is starting to fade

The **** you teach us doesn't even matter
Long as we graduate, go to college, climb the ladder
But without your full attention our entire future will shatter

Teacher preacher you're supposed to be here to shape my mind
Teacher preacher it's time to take a step back and let me shine

Teacher preacher I've had a rough day
But you yell at me when I try to hide in my hats shade

Teacher preacher these are the last words on the page
Teacher preacher I'm your puppet and this is your stage

No wait back up ...
I need to clean my act up
Come Sunday in walking at graduation
When last Sunday I was selling good Haitian
But a gun to the head will **** with you respiration
You don't need the money just quit that desperation.

Capitalism
Take take take
**** with the come up
They find you in that lake lake lake

But excuse my attitude
What would you do when your role models was drug dealers
And Hug stealers  
And plug kneelers
And wig splinters
And

As the time passes I'm tired of making momma cry
As the time passes I'm tired of being that guy
But hate to see my family struggle
In twenty years probably look back on this and force a chuckle

But once and for all for all the people that doubted me
*******
come Sunday it's my stage
And all my success is written on that page

Ode to my teacher,
oh what a wonderful,
delightful, energetic
teacher.

So full of love,
and patient when
we need it most
my teacher.

It's a shame you
have to go before
the rest of us do.

This is an ode
to you - our teacher
to thank you
for your help along
our way.

You are like the tree
and us the apples of
your eye. Love us-
teacher.

We hold you with the
importance of the sun
for we are the plants
bowing our heads to you -
teacher.

we have used similes
and metaphors
just for you -
our beautiful teacher.

Thank you -
really.

Name of Teacher:*___________________________________________
Teacher/Course Evaluation: Fall Semester, Humanities Block (History & English) Hopi High School, Keams Canyon, Arizona, Bureau of Indian Affairs (BIA).

_______________ (1) This course was: (A) always different; never boring; sometimes even enjoyable (B) like a sleeping pill, an experience similar to having narcolepsy (C) like being sentenced to a maximum-security penitentiary for a semester; what did I do in a previous incarnation that stored up so much bad karma for me to deserve being here?   (D) a semester living under a totalitarian regime; this teacher would have fit right in with ******’s “Gestapo” (E) what I imagine it would have been like at Herot, Hrothgar’s royal mead hall in Beowulf, whenever the monster Grendel came calling.

_______________ (2) This teacher:  (A) knows how to teach, knows a great deal about this subject and others, creates a classroom atmosphere that resonates with teenagers and truly cares whether I show up ready to learn (B) never remembers my name, let alone my birthday (C) actually hates me and has made several attempts on my life (D) should have his license to teach revoked; can wiring my desk for electric shocks be legal?
(E) often wanders off, leaving us alone in the classroom for as long as 30 minutes at a time while out in the parking lot screaming about aliens and/or Bolsheviks.

_______________ (3) Compared to all other teachers I’ve had since kindergarten, this teacher: (A) is one of the best, certainly in the top 10% (B) has the worst personal hygiene; aren’t teachers required to bathe at least once a month? (C) has the least credibility; he tells me nothing but “lies, ****** lies and statistics” (D) frightens me the most, particularly whenever the moon waxes full (E) is obviously the one most in need of a good 12-step recovery program.

_______________ (4) This teacher’s grading system:   (A) is objective and reflects what I earn; not subjectively based on whether he likes my face or not (B) is based on a point system that is clearly explained and fairly administered (C) is based on assignments that are challenging but not impossibly difficult (D) includes opportunities to earn at least some extra credit (E) A, B, C & D (F) none of these; sometimes I think he pulls my grade out of his ***.

_____________(5) If I could change one thing about this teacher or his class, I'd: (A) change nothing: this teacher belongs in Sir Thomas More’s Utopia (B) insist that he use English in the classroom, not that "clicks and pops" sound-effect language he learned while backpacking in sub-Saharan Africa one summer (C) tear down that rice-paper-thin, cardboard wall separating his classroom from the one next door (D) demand that an FBI Trained and Certified Document Examiner review his BIA job application, teaching credential, college transcripts and fingerprint card (E) remove sheep and goats*.

My Teacher is silent and strict.
My Teacher feeds me in upbringings.
My Teacher caresses like wind,
My Teacher is full of his Feelings.

My Teacher's a nascence, an end.
My doubt is My Teacher and sure.
My Teacher is art to refrain,
My Teacher is art to be pure.

The Doctrine is simple and hard,
The Doctrine is stable and driven.
The Doctrine that evil allowed
To make all my blessings be given.
-----------------

Учитель мой и строг и молчалив,
Учитель мой взращает и питает,
Учитель мой ласкает как прилив,
Как ветер нежно обнимает,

Учитель мой- рождение и смерть,
Учитель мой-сомнение и ласка,
Учитель мой- умение терпеть,
Учитель мой-безумие и сказка.

Учение и сложно и легко,
Учение и твёрдо и безбрежно,
Учение-дозволенное Зло,
Учение- что Благо неизбежно.

(1)
There’s one thing I must get off my chest
that’s bothered me now
even 50 years on
with the passage of time –
my English teacher then
she always told me when I grumbled
homework was too difficult,
she’d tell me: “That’s a piece of cake”
And I’d go home discombobulated how
anyone could eat paper
or homework
and she said this not once, but every time:
“It’s a piece of cake”


(2)
And my parents and I looked at it
every which way and from every point of view
and concluded in our Perfect Ancient Native language:
“This English teacher is a loony. She is wooly-headed.
She is the lamb Mary lost, silly and muddle-headed.
How can homework be a piece of cake?
Anyway, we don’t eat cake – we eat samosas.”

(3)
And yet the English teacher would put her nose
up in the air
and remonstrate: “It’s a piece of cake!”

Oh yeah, would you like tea with it?

Now, my parents, bless their Ancient Souls,
have gone on into the next world
And I’m left wondering about the secret madness
of that English teacher
who’d ask me to eat cake when I expressed genuine concern…

Well, my parents have passed on, as I said,
and I’ve moved on
as is plain and radiant to see
to master idioms and vocabulary
Punctuation, the catenative verb and Usage;
and, as for that wooly-headed English teacher,
I’m sure she’s moved on into
a comfortable nuthouse
where the staff makes her eat her cake,
and make her think she can have it too -
cos that’s what they do to nuts, and such instances

(4)
And now that I have got that off my chest,
I can comfortably resume memorizing
Volume 3 of theOxford Dictionary
as  I perambulate
and copy 100 entries from Fowler’s “Modern English Usage”
as I victulate
which is all part of my nightly ritual
since she told me to do so some 50 years ago
(cos I happened to look at her Union Jack knickers
when she sat high on the table, and I stood up *****
cos that's what they made us do in the cinemas)
- and that helps to put me into a state of dormancy, to hibernate
till the sun ushers in a new day for me  –
and a new cake for that wooly-headed English teacher,
she, I can presume with certainty,
elegantly reposed and superannuated


Now, I’m glad I’ve got this off my chest
and mastered my idioms and phrases
and I can go eat my samosas

My percussion teacher, fresh out of surgery:
Going down the line of kids at attention -
Checking the attention - my percussion teacher
In a wheelchair gliding down the line -
Fresh out of surgery - sliding down the line
Of kids at attention with heads bowed.
My percussion teacher with the aching back;

My percussion teacher, fresh out of surgery
(With the pill keeper on her keychain)
Wheeling down the line of insecure children -
Checking the attention - my percussion teacher
Calling "Chin up, chest out, back straight,"
(Fresh out of back surgery) going down the line,
"Don't lock your knees, be proud."

My percussion teacher weeks after surgery
With the back pain and the brave face,
At a Christmas parade
My percussion teacher gliding beside the drums
Chair whirring between beats, my teacher
Whispering, "roll step, back straight, chin up,
Be proud."

My teacher in her home at New Year's,
Recovered and childish, months after surgery
"Look, I'm taller now? Wanna see my scar?"
Yes I want to see it, yes of course - that scar,
That pride twisting pink across your chest, yes.
Yes, because your chin is up,
And your back is straight.

Heard a beeping sound
Followed by A very old Frank Sinatra’s song
My classmates’ heads turned
Who’s phone? who’s phone?
Less chaotic when the teacher glared
Everybody put their heads down
And checked their sophisticated mobile phones
Once again...
When the teacher wasn’t looking..
Mobile phones roamed in a dull classroom
Updating facebook status,
Uploading candid photos of a snoring friend
Copy pasting assignment
Text messaging and gossiping about their stern looking teacher
In the name of advanced technology
Mobile smartphones create the impossibles...
Beyond the blackboard and the four walls of the classroom
O o Frank Sinatra’s song again...
And everybody started looking...
The teacher grabbed her mobile phone
Tried to switch it off....
When students could own smartphones..
Who needs NOKIA from the old time zone....?

~ Sharina~

All through science she has thought about him, scribbling his name on the palm of her hand, doodling his name on the inside cover of her exercise book. The teacher rattles on about chemicals, about combinations, of numbers, but Christina isn't listening, she's gazing out the window at the sports field over the way, there where she and Benedict go some lunch times if it's fine and she's not stuck in the girls playground watching other girls play at skip rope or other childish games or chatter. The weather looks fine, the sky blue, clouds sparse. Good. Be out there. He will be there, too. Miss him when he's not about. A piece of chalk whizzes by her head and the teacher calls her  name and to concentrate and not daydream. She turns to the front and picks up her pen and takes down the writing on the board. The teacher scowls, eyes like hawk's. She saw him at morning break in passing by the tuck shop. He gazed at her. Sent tingles through her. Watched until he was out of sight. She scribbles in the exercise book, writes down the script on the board. Last night she dreamed of him. Had his photo under her pillow. Her head inches away from him. She pretended he had come to her room at midnight(the parents were downstairs still) and stood by the door looking at her. She told him to come closer and he came and sat on her bed. Seemed so real. Mere inches away. Hand near mine, pretended to touch. The teacher talks on boringly, she writes faster. The other kids seem to focus, make effort, look up, write down. At breakfast her mother was in a mood. Dark mood day. Moaned about state of my bedroom. Clothes everywhere, she said, books, paper, I won't have it. Christina puts down her pen. Inky fingers, pen leaks. ****. She wipes on a tissue, rubs away. Still stained. The other day she held Benedict's hand palm upward and read his lines. Wanted to see how many children he'd have or his wife. Couldn't decide. Wasn't sure. She liked his hand in hers, his fingers, the smoothness, the skin on skin thing. They kissed briefly, other kids were watching, making silly sounds, comments. She thinks her twin brother says things about her to their mother, not out of spite or telltale, but innocently in chatter over the dinner table or by way of idle talk. Her mother invited Benedict to lunch one school day. Studied him, questioned him. One of her black mood days. She managed to take him to her room for a few moments while her mother was out and showed him her bed and her doll collection and such and kissed quickly until they heard her mother's return. The lesson will soon be over. She cannot wait. Bored titless. She closes her exercise book and puts the cap on her pen and stares at the teacher as she finishes her talk. Her big brother has books under his bed. She saw one the other week while looking for his record player to borrow. Magazines of naked women. Piles stacked neatly. She removed one and opened the pages. She stopped at a page where a woman was kneeling dog like. A man was there ,too. She blushed, closed the magazine, shoved it back under the bed and went out of the room and to her own room. What the hell was that all about? She tried to push it from her mind. Her big brother had touched her in her room and she said nothing. The magazines were still there, she supposes, watching the teacher answer questions of those who were interested or pretended they were to get in the teacher's good books.  Hands rose in the air by those with questions of science. Christina ponders a question:  why do some women kneel dog like? She doesn't ask. Imagines the teacher's face, giggles from other kids. Best not to. The biology teacher was best to ask. But he will probably blush. So would she. She wishes time would fly. The sky is still blue. Clouds drift lazily. Her big brother lifted her skirt under the dinning room table and touched her leg. She said nothing, but stiffened, he smiled. Mother moaned about my untidy room, the ***** clothes under the bed, put in the wash basket, she went on. A bell rings from the passage, lesson over, thank God, she thinks, shoving her books in her bag. She goes to the washroom and enters a cubicle. The fingers are still ink stained. Benedict's name is written small there on her palm. She kisses her palm. She remembers the first time she saw him. He was new to the school, came just before Christmas. He stood in the assembly hall in a year above hers. His sister was in her class. They talked about him. She introduced him to her one lunch time on the sports field. They talked shyly, sat near, didn't touch, uneasy the first time. She left the cubicle, washed her hands, scrubbed her fingers with the white soap. Cleaner, still slightly stained. Try again later. She leaves the wash room and goes along the passage  hoping to see him. Crowds of kids pass by. A boy and girl by the gym door smooch, his hand on her thigh, her hand on his neck. But no Benedict. She stares about her. No. Not about. She moves towards the next lesson, maths, double, time passes, boring, wants to see him. The bell rings, next lesson, his sister walks beside her, not him, o if it was him, if only.  The passageway is dull, her life seems dim.

Gazing out the window, it’s beautiful outside, letting my mind wandering into the distance daydreaming about the endless possibilities. Then someone slams a ruler on my desk that caught me by surprised I nearly jump out of my chair startled. It was the teacher glaring down at me spitefully.
“Eyes up here, Grace! You need to pay attention!” said the teacher. “Didn’t you hear me? Open your text book to page 300 and keep up!” My classmates started to giggle then the teacher walked back to the front of the classroom, chalk in hand and began to write on the chalkboard, letters that I couldn’t quite make out. The teachers words start to muffle as I try and locate my binder and pencil for notes but then I hear the teacher call my name “Grace” and I look up with fear in my eye hoping she did not just call on me to answer her question.
“Grace could you please come to the front and spell the word ‘BECAUSE’ on the board?” I knew this word but I don’t remember how to spell it. I really hate going to the front of the class because I always make a mistake. I slowly get up from my desk, my hands start to sweat, and the room goes silent as I walked, with my shoes squeaking on the tile floor louder than usual, up to the teacher. I take the chalk from the teacher’s hand. As I begin to write I freeze.
Paralyzed with fear I ask the teacher “I’m sorry, can you repeat the word that you wants me to spell?”
The teacher scoffed at me and even louder said, “The word is, ‘BECAUSE’!” I nodded my head trying to remember but my mind was blank, I remember using my markers to trace out the letters of each word but this one was particularly hard to remember. I started to write B…E…K…then I’m stuck, I start to panic and I write the remaining letters that sounded right A…Z. then I immediately place the chalk down on the teacher’s desk and walk as fast as I could back to my desk. The students all start to roar in laughter, as they know I made a mistake. I look on the board and it reads ‘BEKAZ’ I know its wrong but I don’t have the answer to change it.
The teacher, unamused by the students stares at the chalk board then turns and looks straight at me as says “Grace, you will not go outside for recess instead, you will sit in the beanbag and read, if I see you slacking off, you will be tracing out your letters for the spelling test that is this Friday.” After her remark the bell rang and it was time for lunch.

Pero paano kapag si teacher naman ang nangailangan ng tulong?
Paano kapag si teacher naman ang nahirapan?
Paano kapag hindi na rin maintindihan ni teacher ang mga pangyayari?
Paano kapag si teacher mismo napagod na?
Paano kapag ubos na ang pasensya ni teacher?
Sinong iintindi sa kanya?
Mauunawaan ba siya ng mga musmos na nangangapa pa lang sa buhay?
Paano kung si teacher mismo naliligaw?
Kaya bang sagipin ni teacher ang sarili niya?
Kakayanin niya ba?
Kaya niya pa ba talaga?
Kaya niya ba talaga?

Teacher, Teacher,
Leave me be
Can't you tell
That I can't breath?

Mind malfunction
Push it down
Hide from all the
Peers around.

Silent screams,
I bite my tongue
Don't know what to do,
I'm young.

Teary eyes
Stare up at you,
Teacher, Teacher,
Thought you knew.

1969 Hartford art school is magnet for exceedingly intelligent over-sensitive under-achievers alluring freaks congenital creeps and anyone who cannot cut it in straight world it is about loners dreamers stoners clowns cliques of posers competing to dress draw act most outrageous weird wonderful classrooms clash in diversity of needs some students get it right off while others require so much individual attention one girl constantly raises her hand calls for everything to be repeated explained creativity is treated as trouble and compliance to instruction rewarded most of faculty are of opinion kids are not capable of making original artwork teachers discourage students from dream of becoming well-known until they are older more experienced only practiced skilled artists are competent to create ‘real art’ defined by how much struggle or multiple meanings weave through the work Odysseus wants to make magic boxes without knowing or being informed of Joseph Cornell one teacher tells him you think you’re going to invent some new color the world has never seen? you’re just some rowdy brat from the midwest with a lot of crazy ideas and no evidence of authenticity another teacher warns you’re nothing more than a bricoleur! Odysseus questions what’s a bricoleur teacher informs a rogue handyman who haphazardly constructs from whatever is immediately available Odysseus questions what’s wrong with that? teacher answers it’s low-class folk junk  possessing no real intellectual value independently he reads Marshall McLuhan’s “The Medium Is The Message” and “The Notebooks of Leonardo da Vinci” he memorizes introductory remark of Leonardo’s “i must do like one who comes last to the fair and can find no other way of providing for himself than by taking all the things already seen by others and not taken by reason of their lesser value” Odysseus dreams of becoming accomplished important artist like Robert Rauschenberg Jasper Johns Andy Warhol he dreams of being in eye of hurricane New York art scene he works for university newspaper and is nicknamed crashkiss the newspaper editor is leader in student movement and folk singer who croons “45 caliber man, you’re so much more than our 22, but there’s so many more of us than you” Odysseus grows mustache wears flower printed pants vintage 1940’s leather jacket g.i. surplus clothes he makes many friends his gift for hooking up with girls is uncanny he is long haired drug-crazed hippie enjoying popularity previously unknown to him rock bands play at art openings everyone flirts dances gets ****** lots of activism on campus New York Times dubs university of Hartford “Berkeley of the east coast” holding up ******* in peace sign is subversive in 1969 symbol of rebellion youth solidarity gesture against war hawks rednecks corporate America acknowledgment of potential beyond materialistic self-righteous values of status quo sign of what could be in universe filled with incredible possibilities he moves in with  painting student one year advanced named Todd Whitman Todd has curly blond hair sturdy build wire rimmed glasses impish smile gemini superb draftsman amazing artist Todd emulates Francisco de Goya and Albrecht Durer Todd’s talent overshadows Odysseus’s Todd’s dad is accomplished professor at distinguished college in Massachusetts to celebrate Odysseus’s arrival Todd cooks all day preparing spaghetti dinner when Odysseus arrives home tripping on acid without appetite Todd is disappointed Odysseus runs down to corner store buys large bottle of wine returns to house Todd is eating spaghetti alone they get drunk together then pierce each other’s ears with needles ice wine cork pierced ears are outlaw style of bad *** bikers like Hell’s Angels Todd says you are a real original Odys and funny too Odysseus asks funny, how? Todd answers you are one crazy ******* drop acid whenever you want smoke **** then go to class this is fun tonight Odys getting drunk and piercing our ears Odysseus says yup i’m having a good time too Todd and Odysseus become best friends Odysseus turns Todd on to Sylvia Plath’s “The Bell Jar” and “Ariel” then they both read Ted Hughes “Crow” illustrated with Leonard Baskin prints Todd turns Odysseus on to German Expressionist painting art movement of garish colors emotionally violent imagery from 1905-1925 later infuriating Third ***** who deemed the work “degenerate” Odysseus dives into works of Max Beckmann Otto Dix Conrad Felixmulller Barthel Gilles George Grosz Erich Heckel Ernst Ludwig Kirchner Felix Nussbaum Karl *******Rottluff Carl Hofer August Macke Max Peckstein Elfriede Lohse-Wachtler Egon Shiele list goes on in 1969 most parents don’t have money to buy their children cars most kids living off campus either ride bikes or hitchhike to school then back home on weekends often without a penny in their pockets Odysseus and Todd randomly select a highway and hitch rides to Putney Vermont Brattleboro Boston Cape Cod New York City or D.C. in search of adventure there is always trouble to be found curious girls to assist in Georgetown Odysseus sleeps with skinny girl with webbed toes who believes he is Jesus he tries to dissuade her but she is convinced

Toby Mantis is visiting New York City artist at Hartford art school he looks like huskier handsomer version of Ringo Starr and women dig him he builds stretchers and stretches canvases for Warhol lives in huge loft in Soho on Broadway and Bleeker invites Odysseus to come down on weekends hang out Toby takes him to Max’s Kansas City Warhol’s Electric Circus they wander all night into morning there are printing companies longshoremen gays in Chelsea Italians in West Village hippies playing guitars protesting the war in Washington Square all kinds of hollering crazies passing out fliers pins in Union Square Toby is hard drinker Odysseus has trouble keeping up  he pukes his guts out number of times Odysseus is *** head not drinker he explores 42nd Street stumbles across strange exotic place named Peep Show World upstairs is large with many **** cubicles creepy dudes hanging around downstairs is astonishing there are many clusters of booths with live **** girls inside girls shout out hey boys come on now pick me come on boys there are hundreds of girls from all over the world in every conceivable size shape race he enters dark stall  puts fifty cents in coin box window screen lifts inside each cluster are 6 to 10 girls either parading or glued to a window for $1 he is allowed to caress kiss their ******* for $2 he is permitted to probe their ****** or *** for $10 girl reaches hand into darkened stall jerks him off tall slender British girl thrills him the most she says let me have another go at your dickey Odysseus spends all his money ******* 5 times departing he notices men from every walk of life passing through wall street stockbrokers executives rednecks mobsters frat boys tourists fat old bald guys smoking thick smelly cigars Toby Mantis has good-looking girlfriend named Lorraine with long brown hair Toby Lorraine and Odysseus sit around kitchen table Odysseus doodles with pencil on paper Toby spreads open Lorraine’s thighs exposing her ****** to Odysseus Lorraine blushes yet permits Toby to finger her Odysseus thinks she has the most beautiful ****** he has ever seen bulging pelvic bone brown distinctive bush symmetric lips Toby and Lorraine watch in amusement as Odysseus gazes intently Tony mischievously remarks you like looking at that ***** don’t you? Odysseus stares silently begins pencil drawing Lorraine’s ****** his eyes darting back and forth following day Lorraine seduces Odysseus while Toby is away walks out **** from shower she is few years older her body lean with high ******* she directs his hands mouth while she talks with someone on telephone it is strange yet quite exciting Odysseus is in awe of New York City every culture in the world intermingling democracy functioning in an uncontrollable managed breath millions of people in motion stories unraveling on every street 24 hour spectacle with no limits every conceivable variety of humanity ******* in same air Odysseus is bedazzled yet intimidated

Odysseus spends summer of 1970 at art colony in Cummington Massachusetts it is magical time extraordinary place many talented eccentric characters all kinds of happenings stage plays poetry readings community meals volleyball after dinner volleyball games are hilarious fun he lives alone in isolated studio amidst wild raspberries in woods shares toilet with field mouse no shower he reads Jerzy Kosinski’s “Painted Bird” then “Being There” then “Steps” attractive long haired girl named Pam visits community for weekend meets Odysseus they talk realize they were in first grade together at Harper amazing coincidence automatic ground for “we need to have *** because neither of us has seen each other since first grade” she inquires where do you sleep? Todd hitches up from Hartford to satisfy curiosity everyone sleeps around good-looking blue-eyed poet named Shannon Banks from South Boston tells Odysseus his ******* is not big enough for kind of ******* she wants but she will **** him off that’s fine with him 32 year old poet named Ellen Morrissey from Massachusetts reassures him ******* is fine Ellen is beginning to find her way out from suffocating marriage she has little daughter named Nina Ellen admires Odysseus’s free spirit sees both his possibilities and naïveté she realizes he has crippling family baggage he has no idea he is carrying thing about trauma is as it is occurring victim shrugs laughs to repel shock yet years later pain horror sink in turned-on with new ideas he returns to Hartford art school classes are fun yet confusing he strives to be best drawer most innovative competition sidetracks him Odysseus uses power drill to carve pumpkin on Halloween teachers warn him to stick to fundamentals too much creativity is suspect Todd and he are invited to holiday party Odysseus shows up with Ellen Morrissey driving in her father’s station wagon 2 exceptionally pretty girls flirt with him he is live wire they sneak upstairs he fingers both at same time while they laugh to each other one of the girls Laura invites him outside to do more he follows they walk through falling snow until they find hidden area near some trees Laura lies down lifts her skirt she spreads her legs dense ***** mound he is about to explore her there when Laura looks up sees figure with flashlight following their tracks in snow she warns it’s Bill my husband run for your life! Odysseus runs around long way back inside party grabs a beer pretending he has been there next to Ellen all night few minutes later he sees Laura and Bill return through front door Bill has dark mustache angry eyes Odysseus tells Ellen it is late maybe they should leave soon suddenly Bill walks up to him with beer in hand cracks bottle over his head glass and beer splatter Odysseus jumps up runs out to station wagon Ellen hurriedly follows snow coming down hard car is wedged among many guest vehicles he starts engine locks doors maneuvers vehicle back and forth trying to inch way out of spot Bill appears from party walks to his van disappears from out of darkness swirling snow Bill comes at them wielding large crowbar smashes car’s headlights taillights side mirrors windshield covered in broken glass Ellen ducks on floor beneath glove compartment sobs cries he’s going to **** us! we’re going to die! Odysseus steers station wagon free floors gas pedal drives on back country roads through furious snowstorm in dark of night no lights Odysseus contorts crouches forward in order to see through hole in shattered windshield Ellen sees headlights behind them coming up fast it is Bill in van Bill banging their bumper follows them all the way back to Hartford to Odysseus’s place they run inside call police Bill sits parked van outside across street as police arrive half hour later Bill pulls away next day Odysseus and Ellen drive to Boston to explain to Ellen’s dad what has happened to his station wagon Odysseus stays with Ellen in Brookline for several nights another holiday party she wants to take him along to meet her friends her social circles are older he thinks to challenge their values be outrageous paints face Ellen is horrified cries you can’t possibly do this to me these are my close friends what will they think? he defiantly answers my face is a mask who cares what i look like? man woman creature what does it matter? if your friends really want to know me they’ll need to look beyond the make-up tonight i am your sluttish girlfriend! sometimes Odysseus can be a thoughtless fool

Laura Rousseau Shane files for divorce from Bill she is exceptionally lovely models at art school she is of French descent her figure possessing exotic traits she stands like ballerina with thick pointed ******* copious ***** hair Odysseus is infatuated she frequently dances pursues him Laura says i had the opportunity to meet Bob Dylan once amazed Odysseus questions what did you do? she replies what could i possibly have in common with Bob Dylan? Laura teases Odysseus about being a preppy then lustfully gropes him grabs holds his ***** they devote many hours to ****** intimacy during ******* she routinely reaches her hand from under her buns grasps his testicles squeezing as he pumps he likes that Laura is quite eccentric fetishes over Odysseus she even thrills to pick zits on his back he is not sure if it is truly a desire of hers proof of earthiness or simply expression of mothering Laura has two daughters by Bill Odysseus is in over his head Laura tells Odysseus myth of Medea smitten with love for Jason Jason needs Medea’s help to find Golden Fleece Medea agrees with promise of marriage murders her brother arranges ****** of king who has deprived Jason his inheritance couple is forced into exile Medea bears Jason 2 sons then Jason falls in love with King Creon’s daughter deserts Medea is furious she makes shawl for King Creon’s daughter to wear at her wedding to Jason  shawl turns to flames killing bride Medea murders her own sons by Jason Odysseus goes along with story for a while but Laura wants husband Odysseus is merely scruffy boy with roving eyes Laura becomes galled by Odysseus leaves him for one of his roommates whom she marries then several years later divorces there is scene when Laura tells Odysseus she is dropping him for his roommate he is standing in living room of her house space is painted deep renaissance burgundy there are framed photographs on walls in one photo he is hugging Laura and her daughters under big oak tree in room Laura’s friend Bettina other girl he fingered first night he met Laura at party is watching with arms crossed he drops to floor curls body sobs i miss you so much Laura turns to Bettina remarks look at him men are such big babies he’s pitiful Bettina nods

following summer he works installing displays at G. Fox Department Store besides one woman gay men staff display department for as long as he can remember homosexuals have always been attracted to him this misconception is probably how he got job his tenor voice suggesting not entirely mature man instead more like tentative young boy this ambiguous manifestation sometimes also evidences gestures thoroughly misleading after sidestepping several ****** advances one of his co-workers bewilderingly remarks you really are straight manager staff are fussy chirpy catty group consequently certain he is not gay they discriminate against him stick him with break down clean up slop jobs at outdoor weekend rock concert in Constitution Plaza he meets 2 younger blond girls who consent to go back to his place mess around both girls are quite dazzling yet one is somewhat physically undeveloped they undress and model for Odysseus radio plays Roberta Flack’s “Killing Me Softly With His Song” both girls move to rhythm sing along he thinks to orchestrate direct decides instead to let them lead lies on bed while curvaceous girl rides his ******* slender girl sits on his face they switch all 3 alternate giggle laughter each girl reaches ****** on his stiffness later both assist with hands mouths his ****** is so intense it leaves him paralyzed for a moment

in fall he is cast as Claudius in production of Hamlet Odysseus rehearses diligently on nights o

Today, I saw something.
Something that left me speechless.
And even to this moment,
I can’t get it out of my head.

In my Spanish class, there is a boy.
This boy is a Senior, and will be graduating in two days.
He isn’t very sociable, and I’ve only talked to him a few times.
But the teacher loves him like her own son.

The boy is a very unfortunate boy.
He wears the same clothes very often,
Since he can’t afford new ones.
And never really has supplies for school.

He is a large, dark-skinned boy.
He keeps to himself, and rarely speaks
To anyone else in the class,
Except for the teacher.

He sits and talks to the teacher all class period
(Assuming we aren’t doing anything in class)
And she listens intently, as if he is the Pope
And is passing the word of God unto her.

I've talked to him only a few times before.
Once, he noticed that I was upset over a personal problem
He convinced our teacher that I wasn't feeling well,
And asked her kindly to send me out so that I could get fresh air.

Nobody really ever talked to him.
Eventually, the seats in class rotated,
And I was moved away from him.
He was allowed to stay next to the teacher.

Through the year, it continued.
He wasn't extremely intelligent, but he wasn't unintelligent either.
He would try his hardest in all of his school work no matter what,
And most of the year could scrape by with a C.

Apparently, he had legal troubles at home
Where his parents had a few physical altercations.
He was out for a few days, and then came back
As if nothing had happened.

In my school, the Senior class leaves before the other classes.
Maybe it is the same in other schools, I'm not sure.
The Seniors graduate in two days,
And the boy is going to be leaving.

Today, the bell rang to end the class.
I was late packing up, and was in class for a few extra seconds
The boy was still in class as well,
Looking at our teacher.

He walked up to her and called her name.
She looked up from her desk and smiled
They talked as if they were great friends for a moment
And then the boy looked very sad.

What he said next was heartbreaking.
"You were my best friend this entire year.
None of my other teachers really cared about me
They thought I was just another kid who didn't care.

But you always helped me, no matter what.
When I was struggling, you would go out of your way
To make sure I understood what was happening.
Without you, I wouldn't be graduating."

He paused to wipe a tear from his eye.
"I just wanted you to know
That you were more loving
Than my own parents at home."

The teacher didn't respond.
She stood up from her desk
And wrapped her arms around his neck
And hugged him like he was her own child.

Neither of them spoke,
But I could hear them both
Gently crying into each others shoulders.
Saying more than words ever could.

I left the class without saying a word
But the sight still hasn't left my mind.
The sweetness, the sincerity of his words,
And how overcome with emotion they were.

It left me choked for quite a moment,
And I had to force back tears before I went to lunch.
When I got there, I sat down with my friends.
And told them what I saw.

I excluded their names,
Not wanting to tell everyone their business.
And did my best not to tear up.
My friends listened intently.

One of my friends was dumbstruck,
And another started to tear up as well.
The others stayed silent, which spoke volumes.
Except for one, who simply uttered "Whoa."

And it's still in my mind.
The large, misunderstood boy
Being hugged by a loving teacher,
Who cared for him more than his own parents.

That time was such a year full of excitement.
Sitting in English class writing poems and enlightenment.
Even though I was soft spoken I found myself as a teacher's pet.
After hearing these words you would think I need a vet.
Was the trending topic on every male student's mind wonder if the teacher figured that out yet.

I'd never been one to read my thoughts and writings out loud.
Until she pressured me one time to the class and after said she was proud.
As minor as it seemed, over timed it became major.
Now far as poetry writers and rappers in our graduation class I am called the savior.

Was so anxious to go to class, especially when that project was due.
Was my first piece of poetry work, classmates called me Guru.
The whole time, this teacher knew and said I was destined for success.
Now I have this profile and forming a group called TDS.

Why'd I feel like a teacher's pet?
Because in my head this teacher was my school mom.
Because of her you can type in my name following a dot com.
Even though she helped and was kind and loving to every other student,
I took her kindness, words, and light she shed on me and turning it into a movement.

Sat a couple seats down and smiled at me during graduation.
Every time you spoke to me about my writing you made me feel I could conquer my generation.
I never did much is class, except read what I've been writing every time you would ask.
Knowing to myself you could believe in me and encourage me as a teacher like no other.
Believe it or not, you re-birthed me in my writing form, you're my linguistic and poetry mother.

Sooner than later she left.
Rumors he and her family moved to France.
After a long while I decided to take in your words of consideration and give this a chance.

To make a long story short, you are truly adored and missed.
No longer a kid, I'm grown now, til this day you're appreciated so I had to display this.

She stands before the class
Her voice rings loud and clear
Each word beautifully enunciated
For all who wish to hear

The perennial English teacher
She reads with such dramatics and flair
Such a pity that its only noticed
by students in the first few chairs

She's reading out my poem
She paints pictures with her words
But honestly? Sometimes I find
Her explanations quite absurd

No, That's not what I meant!  
Dear teacher, stop twisting my verse!
Dear students,  please notice the flaws
In the story she so carefully rehearsed

It's amazing how sometimes she understands
The thought and feelings of what I wrote
And sometimes she gets it so very wrong
That I want to strangle her throat

She continues unperturbed
By the lack of interest in the room
Students only see her smile and energy
Not her disappointment and gloom

She worked so hard to teach them,
A little appreciation would go far!
But they just sit and pretend to listen
As they wait for the end for the hour

Finally, she comes across
That fateful line
The one that sparks a discussion
I watch the class come to life

In a tsunami of opinions,
She smiles proudly, riding the wave
She launches into her explanation
And it's the completely wrong one she gave

Its one of many misinterpretations
Of my carefully crafted work
There! That student! She understands what I meant!
Now now, don't tell her she's wrong. Don't be a ****!

A debate ensues and words fly
The classroom divides into two.
Half are on my side, dear teacher
And the other half believe you.

Out of the blue, the bell rings
For once the students want more time!
A pat on the back for the English teacher.
This victory is both hers and mine

So what if she gets it wrong sometimes?
So what what if she's too dramatic?  
Sometimes she's just unreasonable
She's your average literature fanatic

She always gets her point across
Without having to scream and shout
She teaches the students the value of words
Isn't that what it's all about?

Should I become a middle school math or English teacher?
Leave my bed early in the morning and return with test papers to grade.
With what authority will I persuade those kids to sit still and perform
      calculations and interpretations.
I won’t be allowed to teach A Good Man Is Hard To Find. Nope, it’ll be
      Catcher in the Rye, Lord of the Flies and Slaughterhouse Five. Novels
      that annoy.
Poems and math are magic. Words and numbers are things no one has
      ever seen or heard or touched.
But the administration keeps them separate. The curriculum’s
      determinate.
The kids are beautiful but combustible. When middle school lets out at
      the periapsis of Earth’s orbit, that’s the face of joy.

The purpose of school is to introduce us to the world’s innumerable
      wonders. The periodic table, World Wars I and II, Huckleberry Finn
      and Jim.
Once a gaggle of teenage girls bet whether I wore boxers or jockeys. I felt
      ambushed and unlucky. Also a bit afraid.
There’s little love lost between the students and the teachers. Expect to
      forget and be forgotten. Information.
I remember Mr. Killian my chemistry teacher. So boring about something
      I now find so interesting and important. He wasn’t boring; I was
      boring.
I remember Mr. Christensen my history teacher. He was fat and funny but
      taught as little as possible. I was known to laugh so hard I cried.
I remember Mr. T my calculus teacher. He dressed everyday exactly like
      Gene Kranz in mission control. I was confused past help so he didn’t
      help.
I remember Tone Kwas my music teacher. He said I was the worst
      trumpet player he’d ever tried to teach and switched me to
      sousaphone. He was right but so what! Playing badly is the best
      riposte.

Teacher: Alright Panda what are your Favorite colors?

Me: My favorite colors are Red and Black

Teacher: Interesting colors Panda, why are those your colors?

Me: I honestly doubt you want to hear the answer to that.

Teacher: Come on Panda, tell the class why those are your colors.
--------------------------------------------------------­---------------------------------------
In my head the decision warred to tell but then my life was already hard enough as it was......More and more my demons wanted release so finally I gave in prepared for the looks, name calling, and lonely life again.
----------------------------------------------------------­-------------------------------------Me: you really want to know  why?

Teacher: Very much yes, we would

Me: Ok then, Red and black are my favorite colors for their meanings.

Teacher: And what are their meanings?

Me: Red, stands for The blood that is shed during death, The blood that I shed when the knife glides over my skin, The blood that can be heard rushing through your veins when the fear becomes to great....The blood that your heart leaks from the poorly covered cracks from being shattered so many times....

Teacher: (Gulps) And what about black Panda?

Me: Black.....My true color.....Black, stands for the darkness and destruction warring in my mind, body, and soul, The darkness after death, The darkness in my heart from all the hatred thrown at me, The Darkness and destruction from my inner demons who keep warm and safe at night, The Darkness that one day we will all see, because nobody can escape death....Hes one bad-*** ******* who always gets his way....Those are my colors....The colors that make me and I stand for...

Teacher: Ummm....Very...Very Interesting Panda (Gulps and steps away) You know I think it's time for lunch why don't we all go to lunch yea? ( Scurries away)

Other students: I told you she was a freak......Crazy......Belongs with the dead if you ask me.....She talks about demons so much I would be surprised if she wasn't one.....

Me: Smirks You guys should learn to keep your opinions to your self, they might get you hurt one day.... (Get's up and walks out the door leaving a note for the others)

*Note- "Roses are Red, Violates are blue, Red like your blood, blue like the sea....Keep on talking soon you will all see who the true demon is and hey it just might be me." Yours truly Panda <3