If on the first day of school a kid says
"present" instead of "here"
during attendance you know they're gonna be an annoying little sh.t bag.
Super
White
Girl
Problems
#1821
When
your mom
thinks all the boy want
you, but you're just as
desirable as a piece of
burnt toast.
tumblr
Eenie, meenie, miney,
mo.
You ain't nothin' but a hoe.
You think you're cool,
you think you're classy.
Newsflash!
You're f/cking trashy.
You ain't nothin' but a hoe.
You think you're cool,
you think you're classy.
Newsflash!
You're f/cking trashy.
You hate the way your hair falls, so you hide it in a bun. You turn up to school each day,
look around and feel outdone. You check your thighs constantly to see if you've gained
weight. You can't get to sleep at night because you're too busy fighting fate. You hate
your heart for beating and letting it cause you pain. You're so over being hurt, you
don't ever want to love again. You have to wear makeup to feel more secure. And
when you're asked how you feel you're never really sure. You hate to let people
in, you fear you'll let them down. You wear a pretty smile so people won't
know your frown. And when you look in the mirror all you see
is a broken mess. But, darling, when I look at you,
What I see is flawless
To Santa Claus and Little Sisters
By, Anonymous
Once,
On yellow paper, with green lines, he wrote a poem,
And called it "Chops"
Because that was the name of his dog,
And that's what it was all about.
And his teacher gave him an "A"
and a gold star,
And his mother hung it on the kitchen door
And read it to all his aunts.
That was the year his sister was born,
With tiny toenails and no hair,
And Father Tracy took them to the zoo
And let them sing on the bus.
And his mother and father kissed a lot
And the girl around the corner sent him a Christmas card
Signed with a row of x's.
And his father always tucked him in at night,
And he was always there to do it.
Once,
On white paper, with blue lines, he wrote another poem.
And he called it "Autumn"
Because that was the name of the season
And that's what it was all about.
And his teacher gave him an "A"
And told him to write more clearly.
And his mother didn't hang it on the kitchen door
Because the door
Had just been painted
That was the year his sister got glasses,
With black frames and thick lenses
And the kids told him why mother and father
Kissed a lot.
And Father Tracy smoked cigars
And left butts on the pews,
And the girl around the block laughed
When he went to see Santa Claus at Macy's
And his father stopped tucking him in at night,
And got mad at him when he cried for him to.
Once,
On paper torn from his notebook, he wrote another poem,
And he called it "Question Marked Innocence",
Because that was the name of his grief
And that's what it was all about.
And the professor gave him an "A"
And a strange and steady look.
And his mother never hung it on the door
Because he never let her see it.
That year he found his sister necking on the back porch
And his parents never kissed, or even smiled.
And he forgot how the end of "Apostle's Creed" went,
And Father Tracy died.
And the girl around the block wore too much make-up
That made him cough when he kissed her,
But he kissed her anyway
Once
At 3 a.m., he tucked himself in bed,
His father snoring soundly.
He tried another poem, on the back of a pack of matches,
And he called it "absolutely nothing"
Because that's what it was all about.
And he gave himself an "A"
And a slash on each damp wrist
And hung it on the bathroom door,
Because he couldn't reach the kitchen.
By, Anonymous
Once,
On yellow paper, with green lines, he wrote a poem,
And called it "Chops"
Because that was the name of his dog,
And that's what it was all about.
And his teacher gave him an "A"
and a gold star,
And his mother hung it on the kitchen door
And read it to all his aunts.
That was the year his sister was born,
With tiny toenails and no hair,
And Father Tracy took them to the zoo
And let them sing on the bus.
And his mother and father kissed a lot
And the girl around the corner sent him a Christmas card
Signed with a row of x's.
And his father always tucked him in at night,
And he was always there to do it.
Once,
On white paper, with blue lines, he wrote another poem.
And he called it "Autumn"
Because that was the name of the season
And that's what it was all about.
And his teacher gave him an "A"
And told him to write more clearly.
And his mother didn't hang it on the kitchen door
Because the door
Had just been painted
That was the year his sister got glasses,
With black frames and thick lenses
And the kids told him why mother and father
Kissed a lot.
And Father Tracy smoked cigars
And left butts on the pews,
And the girl around the block laughed
When he went to see Santa Claus at Macy's
And his father stopped tucking him in at night,
And got mad at him when he cried for him to.
Once,
On paper torn from his notebook, he wrote another poem,
And he called it "Question Marked Innocence",
Because that was the name of his grief
And that's what it was all about.
And the professor gave him an "A"
And a strange and steady look.
And his mother never hung it on the door
Because he never let her see it.
That year he found his sister necking on the back porch
And his parents never kissed, or even smiled.
And he forgot how the end of "Apostle's Creed" went,
And Father Tracy died.
And the girl around the block wore too much make-up
That made him cough when he kissed her,
But he kissed her anyway
Once
At 3 a.m., he tucked himself in bed,
His father snoring soundly.
He tried another poem, on the back of a pack of matches,
And he called it "absolutely nothing"
Because that's what it was all about.
And he gave himself an "A"
And a slash on each damp wrist
And hung it on the bathroom door,
Because he couldn't reach the kitchen.
i'm your cure
and you are my disease
i am saving you
but you are killing me.
So my friend Adrienne took a picture of
a bathroom stall at our school that someone wrote on.
This is what it said:
I loved her harder than rain.
and softer than night fell in the summer.
But I,
I am not soft.
I am car crashes and dirty needles.
And it's people like us whose
shoulders rust in the rain.
I have no clue who wrote that beautiful poem but it's simply stunning.
a bathroom stall at our school that someone wrote on.
This is what it said:
I loved her harder than rain.
and softer than night fell in the summer.
But I,
I am not soft.
I am car crashes and dirty needles.
And it's people like us whose
shoulders rust in the rain.
I have no clue who wrote that beautiful poem but it's simply stunning.
