Rumors Are Spread By Jealous People

I Breathe In Slowly. Food Is Life. I Exhale, Take Another Breath. Food Is Life.

A Little Kid Asks My Dad Why That Man Is Chopping Down The Tree. Dad: He's Not Chopping It Down. He's Saving It. Those Branches Were Long Dead From Disease. All Plants Are Like That. By Cutting Off The Damage You Make It Possible For The Tree To Grow Again. You Watch - By The End Of Summer, This Tree Will Be The Strongest On The Block.

My English Teacher Has No Face. She Has Uncombed Stringy Hair That Droops On Her Shoulders. The Hair Is Black From Her Part To Her Ears And Then Neon Orange To The Frizzy Ends. I Can't Decide If She Had Pissed Off Her Hairdresser Or Is Morphing Into A Monarch Butterfly. I Call Her Hairwoman.

I Have Entered High School With The Wrong Hair, The Wrong Clothes, The Wrong Attitude. And I Don't Have Anyone To Sit With.

Because I Am Still A Little Girl Who Believes In Santa And The Tooth Fairy And You.