False School

I hate motherfucking school.

It's just a place with hypocritic fools.

They put you down

So you'll always have a frown.

The stupid bitches just contribute to my stress,

And the rest of this mess.

I wish they would all just die

Because I can't continue to try;

I've tried to please,

But it's like a disease

Because no matter what I do

They're always like "fuck you!"

I go to sit at the table

But it seems I still have a label.

"ooh! look at that girl! doesn't she just make you want to hurl?"

I've smoked so much weed

I can barely even read.

But at least it makes everything okay.

Cause without it I don;t know how I'd live from day to day.

And getting suspended wasn't really fun

Especially since I was so close to getting that gun...

I've smoked my share here and there

And I did it without a care,

Because it made me feel so good

And I didn't even think that it would.

Man, school is just way too fucking hard.

You don't even want to know what I made on my last report card.

I made 6 fucking F's and 1 fucking D

What the hell happened to the A's and my B?

Those stupid fucking pills

And that big bald Mr. Dills

He thinks he's all that

But he's not, he's just fat.

I can't wait till I get out of this place

So I don't have to see his ugly face,

And deal with all his shit

Cuz there's some things I just don't get.

Things like why I'm even here

Instead of with God way up there.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I don't usually cuss that much... I was just angry that day because i had gotten suspended from school. =/

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3 poems


I am a summer day

As color full as the fall leaves

Gentle like the ocean breeze

As bright as the stars in the sky

Unique like a butterfly

What  things  do  you dream ?


I am a cloud

As light as a feather

As heavy as a rock

As soft as a pillow

As hard as a brick

Will it rain today?


I am an artist

Bright like the stars in the sky

As color full as the fall leaves

Gentle like the ocean breeze

As unique as a pearl

What do you like to draw?

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Short poems I wrote in fourth grade for a project..

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7-20-03 antibiotics

antibiotics at 9am

have their effect

put me 2 hours

behind the clocks

sure i can keep up

como se dice... braindead

como se dice... me want home

forgot my license

my hands smell like shit

keep this up

i'd love to stay all day

did some damage last night

i just remembered

the buckknife took charge

only 6 classmates here

out of 40ish

i didn't bring any books

one pen

zero brain power

a cellular phone

please don't call on me...

Author's Notes/Comments: 

2003-07-20 - 12:58 a.m.
(from spanish class last weekend)

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I'm looking for a quick way,

To copy down, what they say.

I've tried the tape and erase,

But batteries are lots, I find these days.

I've tried the pencil and the pad,

But good thick lead ain't easily had.

And always needing to have a rubber,

Can really be an awful bugger.

Laying 'em down, for a scan,

Does sometimes get right out of hand,

As it spills quite slowly on' the screen,

And makes corection a pursuant dream.

But firsts I mist get me a handful of notes,

With text and nimbers and highlighted quotes,

So I mest makes me take a book,

So I dint go thar fer jest me looks,

Entrusted withs a post o' pens,

I'll crooks meh ear and redee the lends.

And ef I find it can't be read,

I'll sink my teeth and sift my head,

For a lil' bit of sleepy verse,

That tho's I might miss-it, it might just work.

© R.H.Elliott 2003

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I find that through the ejucation system, in the merit of getting through, without too much ado, taking notes sees the hope.

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. All the fuckers I see in the hall

I remember there faces before I began to fall

All the pain the caused me in the past

They better hope they can run FAST!

I’m out for blood and guts with my sword

They only manage to get out a word

"Mercy!" and slice, they become everywhere

And yet, they are nowhere they are gone

No one misses them, no one cares for them

They are gone, but I live on without them

Without their disgusting faces looking at me

Just be glad I am not after thee

With the lick of my blade I strike down their evil shells

Sending them to their hells

Being the kid beaten up

Being the kid bleeding on the ground

For seeing them go through this

There is no price I wouldn’t pay for this

Damnation, Limbo, and Hell

Hey, I need a vacation anyway...

Author's Notes/Comments: 

To all the fuckers that fucked with me in the past

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Modus Operandi

Progeny Precious

Early morning routine shock. Scream the alarm, wake up hop

Out of bed, and brush your teeth quick

shower, fresh indeed. Pack school bags, have breakfast.

Rice Cornflakes,

bread butter jam, eggs. Tuck in lunchbox;

wear white socks

school uniforms, black shoes well polished.


Mom and Dad give a drop; drive off

to work.

We wait at school gate for our schoolmates. Some

come in school bus

alighting without fuss, join us. Brisk converse,

hurried focus,

a swift prepare for class test on particular days.

Otherwise, games.

Noise hilarious. We run, talk endless.

Stories, fictions,

tales based on pure imaginations, read to us by parents

at home

previous night. Soon the bell rings. Silence. Discipline.

We Que. Pray.

Another day in school begins.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Those were the days! These days otherwise?
Wonder the days to come!

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2003 Poetry



Deep lexis

Finding meaning


Aqueous eyes

written 1/26/2003

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Farewell Innocent Teachers


Pain, frustration,

& suffering,

innocent teachers,

go through this,

wild children everywhere,

unaware danger,

has appeared.

Fights, arguments,

& scandals,

in hallways, classes,

or outside,

innocent teachers,

hurt all the time,

jumping in to stop,

this violence.

Children never,

respect teachers,

working hard,

teaching education,

loving work/children,

deep inside,

also having fun,

that they strive.

Sadness comes,

when leaving,

some students cry,

in sorrow,

other yell/scream,

of departure,

and innocent teachers,

hurt inside.

Farewell innocent teachers,

may you always,

know truly,

some students,

in your class,

still adore,

& never forget you.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This poem goes out to 'My Sister's Teacher Ms. Korte and Mr. Welch & Other Teachers".

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Strict Teachers


Out and about you go,

off to class where,

you already know,

the teacher is full at go,

assigning work,

explaining problems,

handing out tests where now,

you have the urge to go home.

You want to talk, sleep, or write,

the thoughts from your mind,

but these strict teachers,

don?t care for dime,

"Turn around, pay attention,

& don?t make me have to move you!"

they always seem to say to you.

These words sting you like a bee,

where you want to leave & roam free,

in the coolness of a windy breeze,

to a flower that lies beneath,

a very old oak tree.

But, these strict teachers,

decide to keep you tight,

where in a room all you do,

is learn, learn, learn, the facts,

under their own golden rules.

If there's a strict teacher,

you happen to know,

please don't you ever show,

how you feel towards,

his/hers teachings,

where he/she might,

*poof* - be blown.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This poem goes to 'The Teachers Who Seem Mean, But Are Not.'

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