"I lived to Wr!+E and I wrote to LiVE."

Packing up my bag, scurrying into the hall and dashing away from my friend rudely, I raced to my Latin classroom. Last Thursday I taught a lesson on the famous poet, author, whatever you want to call him: Horace. There are ten people in my Latin class, including me. The majority are juniors, and there are three other underclassmen. Of the ten, there are three kids who never make above an 85 though, even on the classwork where using the text book is fair game. They are paralyzed by exhaustion, though I can never see how they are so weary if they don't appear to do anything, their grades a testament. They resemble sloths, the three of them distributed amongst a handful of average students, with their heads as their only defense and their face hidden. Basically, they catch some zzzzzzs in chairs about as comfortable as hugging a cactus, with their heads down, their face neighboring a filthy surface by which we know as a desk. Then, as they receive their 71, 59, 64 or whatever hardly/non-passing grade, they complain. Do you want some cheese with that whine? My presentation was no exception. Two with heads down, another perusing the room, I taught. One bothered to participate, only to tell me the way in which I employed a word was incorrect. Just because you don't know the definition of the word well enough to know this is, in fact, also correct usage doesn't mean you're ever allowed to correct a teacher. Or anyone, actually, mind you. As I finished the slideshow, the teacher handed out the translation sheets. I told them they only were required to translation through line six, but *hint hint, nudge nudge,* attempting the whole thing wouldn't do a bit of harm. It was mandatory that I give a quiz on my topic, which is why I *hint hint nudge nudge*d.
Neither surprised me, but as I retrieved the quizzes from my teacher and took out my green pen, two things happened. First, I so much as glanced and already was embarrassed by the answers I saw circled on fellow classmates quizzes. Second, I heard a voice of one of the sloths from my class, projecting his voice loudly and confidently as ever, though honestly, he shouldn't. FYI, I am about to take mean to a whole new level, but after today, I need to retaliate, even silently. He is not talented, attractive, nice nor funny. He lacks basically any genetic gift you could receive, whether it be extreme musical ability, acumen or even just being easy on the eyes. His personality is also about a 3 out of 10 for having any flavor, or anything that would draw you to him, and that is being generous. I told my dad later that I hope the most promising thing in his future is a job at Dairy Queen, and that he is perpetually dissatisfied with his life. Mean? Yes. On my part? Yes. What he said? Yes.
He strutted into the room, showcasing a body that I wouldn't be proud of in a million years, even if I had been born with only one X chromosome and a Y chromosome. Breathing deeply, he gathered enough air to smoothly verbalize one thing, which turned into a series of tear-downs.
"Herr Wachter (our teacher), I think Jenny's quiz should be dropped."
I casually asked why, to which I was not sure what to expect as a response, but certainly did not expect what I heard. Maybe one breath was taken through the entire time of telling me: It was all dates, therefore quite a dumb quiz, hardly anyone passed so it should not count, my presentation was messy, unprepared, one of the worst he'd seen, he DID pay attention (hmm...you sure about that? That'd be a first, cause we all know your quiz grades say differently), he refused to take notes only because it was "so bad", asked me if I knew what a Word Wall was, because I had certainly implemented that, and OH HEAVENS, god forbid that we even dare take a quiz on material that was in the format of a Word Wall. After he blew all that steam, and stepped out of the room, I mumbled, "that'd explain why you failed."
Now, as Miss Kern, I don't ask for much. A sheet of paper and pencil if you choose, and a closed mouth. But even if I receive neither, it's your grade not mine. Overall, I saw one thing, as I totaled points on one of the last quizzes, the only one to receive a 100: Yell at me, oh please do, and place blame on me for your failure, because I certainly deserve it. But really, your attempts to prove yourself to be worthy hinder your performance ability. And, please notice, just as I don't take a test and you obtain the grade I earned, your actions are yours. Broken home, deceased parent, foster family, your reaction is your own. What happens around you may be enclosing, the flames coming a little closer every second, but how you fight the fire is all yours.

Cold Weather

Cause I see it, in you and in me, and I long to tell you how easy it could never be, but still I know I'd fight and die before victory escapes me. 

Because I saw sense in locks, chains, and fences, but you told me to leave the keys, and not to bring a thing, 'cause we're escaping those nonsenses. 

Because truth is a four letter word plus one, that left my home the day you ran. 

Because I lived in a world of dark, and you lived in a world of light. You taught me how to wish on stars, but at the end of the night, we were too many worlds apart. 

Slide the paper into my hand like you do your fingers,
Let me know why you cry at night.
I long to know who you cry for,
Because I cry at knowing who you long for.
If you send it to me like a paper airplane,
It's Nine-Eleven.
My heart is the twin towers.
Come with me, though, you'll go to heaven.
Because there we'll be able to forget the pain,
You'll kiss me on the cheek
And I'll return to you a dandelion.

An invisible trip http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wfI11wbAxiI

My bare feet hit the pavement,
oh god, it hurts with such delight.
I hear the thunder,
the only thing I feel comfort in tonight.
It's a melody I know by heart.
The claps bring me back to the start,
reminding me of a time I would never depart.
It's a melody I know too well,
like your relentless hand even after I fell,
it's a piece of my searing pain,
it's my addiction, my cocaine.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wIOwxyfRqv4

Because the second you stop hiding from everyone else and begin hiding from yourself, you're really hidden. And even you don't know where to start looking.

You'll tell me your secrets and I'll shove them in my pocket. And you'll wish you never had.

Because she's searching, for any truth, any secret, and I'm afraid to tell to her that the biggest secret of all is that there is no truth left. 

Because it is all looking up now. The sky or the soil, and I'm ready to fly. 

Because I'd wish for wind and rain, but then I would remember: since you left, nothing has changed.

Because each smile is a dollar, and I'm bankrupt. 

Cause you are beautiful inside, so lovely and I can't see why I do anything without you. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IzdPeMQSPqM&playnext=1&list=PLFAD4544A9D9CA108

Ever have something to say? Something so brutally honest but you just want a megaphone and a place in front of a podium to tell people? But you can't. No, you can't and it kills you. You just have this piece of news, this truth that you silently shout, just hoping someone will suspect it and know. Know and understand. But no one does, no nothing, no childhood teddy bear or even chocolate or any one does. And everything all blends into one big surrounding, one setting, and it becomes you and everything else. Two separate categories. And nothing is in yours but you, and even you are slowly slipping away.