2013 Sh*t You Can't Say to Your Teacher
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I enter the pantry enclosed by rectangular shaped daggers Sharper than swords, these penetrate the mind The chef stands adjacent to the board, ready to “teach” the lesson
School is not my forte. Daydreams of melodies frolic through my mind But the pencil is forced to scribble foreign equations. Confused. Frustrated. Lost in a tangle of intricate formulas.
Yo teach, I’m fed up with this shit! Judge me not by the color of my skin, This olive complexion given by genes.
There he is. That kid again. That kid that makes you want to scream. That kid you want to ignore. That kid you doubt and belittle and regard as just another punk teenager bound only for the
She's afraid of things that shouldn't be scary,like walking to class and people staring. She's afraid of her reflection too,She's afraid and she wants to tell you.
Its cold in here, theres no heat. the desks face right, theres no left handed seat. The voices drone, but never make sense, For professors, they sure can be dense. I wish only for a school condusive to the student.
It would be strange to say you changed me Weird to say I’m wise. Odd to speak at all, since seat 27 row five, Was occupied by me, small, quiet me.
Personalities blend to become stock characters, Glimmers of light shine from their eyes. When did I become the "Red Couch" carrier? The song of the road's become solemn and dry.