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Poetry
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| Oh! my crap | |
| By rilLie | ||||||||
| 16 August 2006 | ||||||||
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written during ap (social science) class, product of boredom. Mrs. Agnes is talking, of what I don't know. Maybe, of monarchy and lands, or of the realms below. My stomach's grumbling, it's nine on the clock, Recess is coming, O! joy awaits our flock. My head's off somewhere, somewhere far, far away, where wolves run fast as coming is the day. I forced myself to look at the board that's called black why it's green? I don't know. Attention, I really, truly lack. Oh, we're talking about Gloria, whether or not she should stay. I looked at my classmates; their minds were far away. I looked outside my window, and silently chanted Latin, "Ms. Mamac, not to listen, is most definitely a sin." It took me a few seconds to understand what she said. When I did, oh my crap, I'm really surely dead.
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