In the back of the room sits a girl, Skylar
She sits like a statue, striving desperately to not fall asleep
While the teacher drowns the students with her monotone voice
She dreams of various fabrics, forms and people to meet
Skylar dreams of an institute of learning
One of passion, beauty and vigorous originality
Where she can walk in appreciated, not identified as an “Art Freak”
Not like her concrete slab of a school, oozing of banality
Mrs. Trunchball walks over with a scorn etched on her countenance
Menacing math equations behind her
“Do you know the answer?!” She yells
Ripped back to reality, “ No, Miss. But I do know how to give you a makeover.”
Mrs.Trunchball shocked becomes a dragon of anger
Skylar slides down her chair
As Mrs.Trucnballs wrath, prepares her for
Detentions devilish glare
Being polite to teachers,
Yet another lesson she didn’t wish to learn.
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