Q and A

Another poem at the end, but first a bit of ranting...

Junior year sucks majorly, even at my tiny school, and I can't imagine how awful it must be elsewhere. Truth is, my class isn't even that bad, there's just a few people who ruin it for everyone.

I sit alone in my last class, and in my elective. It isn't by choice.

/end self-pity :)

Only 180 more days until I am free again!

THE POEM...*looks downward*

Answers are elusive things,
clambering around in the hard shell of my brain,
wanting to be reunited with their questions
even though I have forgotten how to direct them.
The more days I live,
the more I am convinced that the biggest answers
are overgrown transparent creatures,
weak with disease and age.
Their bones must be hollow from
the thoughts I have piled onto them.
We are the ones who most deserve release.