The blackboards, they’ve got numbers all lined up like Sci-Fi runes that magically get you gold stars.
So I wrote them down, and memorized. I wrapped myself up in foil all day.
But at the end of the day, I’d still get crossed out. I had red circles on my paper, And dark circles under my eyes.
We wore those late-night memorabilia like it was all part of the dress code. On the outside, we all looked the same. Navy skirts and crisp white blouses.
Inside, we looked like the black marker graffiti on the tiled walls of the girls’ washroom.
They all yelled when we passed empty homework. But they turned silent once they’ve read our diaries.
With a stiff upper lip, they would all retreat to their blackboards.
I wonder what kind of answers I’d have given them, if they had tried giving me different questions back then…