Forming Mind Empathy is for the weak
who can't stomach the gnarls
of twisting metal bits
that rip away your insides
dangerously close is an invitation.
to rip apart sidewalks
sideway pinpoints.
I want to rip your eyeballs
so you can't stare
and know
i am.
0.81 or poetic justice,
aggregate of grating grim
anger, depression
Raina my words are overly aggressive but ym actions not enough so 130530
epitome of incomprehensibility And once upon a time I liked it. Now it scares me. Even the above decimal scares me a little, although I'm, oh, 82% sure I never wrote that. 130530
e_o_i That doesn't make sense, does it? Some context:

In the same year (2001-2, counting September to June, as school programs us to) my father had an emergency operation, my grandfather was hospitalized as well and died in February, I protested my school's ban on the Harry Potter books (don't ask), school began stressing me out and I didn't get enough sleep, and I got suspended for slapping my teacher in the face. It was near the end of November, after school. I was doing some homework inside, and she told me she was closing the classroom so I had to work somewhere else. I was stubborn, she walked up to me as if proximity would help me listen, and I got so angry that I turned around and hit her. She yelled and rolled the notebook she had in her hand into a fly-swatter shape, chasing me out the door. Two of the girls in my class were chatting on the stairs; they regarded the scene with much amusement.

I was suspended for three weeks; I did my schoolwork at the library where my dad worked, and when one of the college students asked, I said I was being temporarily home-schooled (library-schooled?) My parents gave me hell at home, but that subsided, and I rather liked working in the library. It was quiet, and I could avoid the students who still made fun of me. It was near Christmas.

The teacher, who was also the principal - small school - figured she wouldn't let me back until after the winter holidays, but she let me go to the Christmas dinner. I held my head high, braving the mockery (that never came because nobody was paying much attention to me). I remember what I wore: black tights and a blue jean dress that ended above my knees. I figured since I was already evil, I might as well be sexy. Of course, being thirteen and myself, I was about as sexy as a piece of lined paper.

But there you go. Aggression. I was a better-behaved student after that, but it always bothered me that when I went to the new school in 10th grade, my math marks went down. THAT would be karma for the "9/11 = 0.81" marked on the desk of the American student, in revenge for some perceived meanness. (More likely, my brain just couldn't handle trigonometry very well.)

Looking back on it now, sometimes I wish I'd dealt with the stress of being a teenager by doing drugs or smoking, something relatable like that. But I was too much of a hypochondriac. ("Was"?)(Yawn - that is something for another day.)
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