Crimson-Serenity

because on the last thing i worked on for school i got fifty percent.  this is not me crying; i’m past that, sang the praise of too many teachers that told me you’re brilliant, but you just can’t bring up the base enough for it to count.  she told me this is just a rant.  as if poetry isn’t a protest form, as if every rally cry isn’t in some sort of verse.  she told me every poem needs an image as if my anger isn’t vivid enough. i won’t give her the satisfaction of using one now.  call me petty.  call me a letch. i lost the ability to string things together poetically ten years ago to the day and