of_loosened_laces pushpins he wrote a poem on the back of my hand of loosened laces and disheveled hair. my palms grew sweaty from the heat burning through the words on the other side. his smile thinned and his poem washed away in a public restroom far from home. ink and blood faded and of undone ties and messy skins disappeared. all things grow old and our end had inevitably begun. 020427 ... Kate Mrs. Calco spent 15 minutes of our English class discussing the school dress code. A certain physics teacher (whose hobby is to scrutinize my fellow peers and make sure that yes, our shirts are tucked in and our skirts aren't too high) has decided that his new pet peeve is coding kids for not having their shoelaces tied. 020427 what's it to you? who go blather from