Class.

She had heard of the city of sharp edges.
But she stayed where she was.

She was stuck to where she was. A union of her thighs to the chair. A marriage of heat and a rash decision to wear shorts that morning.

The chair.
The chair that bore her weigh yet offered no comfort. The chair that bore the weight of many others and still retained its force of will never to bend to anyone’s will.
…And there was a boy. And once there was laughter.
Now there was occasional amusement. But it was enough. Some laugher is better than total silence.

The chair offered nothing.

There was noise.
Noise she learns to drown out and noise that stands out more than it ought to.
Because it came with the constant factor of annoyance, of ignorance.

Education is deemed necessary I’m told.

Shifting for the unreachable comfort. The metal reflecting her agony, mocking her all the while.

The poke in her spine because the student behind her pays her no attention. Her presence is ignored unless something is wanted of her. Unless she is hit with a binder. Just enough to snap her out of her miserable reverie.

She sees the boy again, absently drumming the desk with his fingers. She hears a noise. Not in reality, but imagined, for it has become ingrained in her. Ingrained like everything else she witnesses.
The monotonous drone of her teacher. She looks towards him, not hearing a word he spews. Boredom has gradually tuned him out and now she only catches snatches of the conversation. Always hearing the amusing parts and perking up when someone starts to laugh.

Dropping her pen for she is too lazy to grip it properly. Telling her teacher to shut up inside her head. The safety in her thoughts. One minute remains.

Buckling under the weight of her backpack. With friends once again. The bell rings its impossible sound. Freedom.

Passion is good but in the wrong areas, not so much. I had 11 hours (seriously) of art homework Thursday night.

Humans are born, educated with things they don't care about (because they don't know how bad it can really be) fall in love, fall out of love, have kids they view as problematic and try to control with punishments and medication. work to buy things that look good, that they care about for 5 minutes, that they wasted their money on because you can't use it when your dead.

So it turns out that beauty is based on math. How odd. Does that make beauty just then?

Yesterday a friend asked me if the world would be a better place if no one wore shoes.

I think it would.