Mountains and Molehills

My teacher gave me an “f on this poem. She told me I should be moving mountains not molehills and she should be crying out of pure joy and not because it pains her to read this piece of… well, you get the point.

I walked out of the room and ran into the bathroom, I stared at my face and willed myself to cry, but the tears wouldn’t come. My face turned red and my gaze hardened and before I knew it I was standing in front of my English teacher. My mouth opened and words came out, and I’m not proud of what I did.

I stood there for minutes, then stomped my foot and yelled “Dammit, I wrote this poem for me not for you. This was a way for me to scream without opening my mouth, and you,

You

YOU

You glued the cap on my pen, broke the tip of my pencil, you sewed my heart shut, put a lock on my brain, you stabbed my words with a sword and threw them out. You killed my poem. I know what you want you want a rhyming piece of happy shit that tells you nothing about me and that I don’t care about, but it would make you smile because you’re not listening to my screams and my cries, you don’t care what happens, as long as in the grade book it goes down as an “A”. So next time you can have your happy crappy poem and I’ll remember to thank you in my acceptance speech when I get published for kicking me to the ground and breaking my pen.

I had another pen in my backpack. Ha ha ha