![]() ![]() You want to know why I was crying at recess? That cat Camille is why. More than I have tears to cry, I miss her. ![]() I’d been scamming food, she’d been shooting up. You want a cinquain poem about a most embarrassing moment that actually happened to me? Okay, here you go: Like I can even remember ever being in a real restaurant. “Put your most embarrassing experience in the form of a cinquain poem.” What did you expect me to do? Write the truth? I knew you’d read them out loud and you did! How do you spell idiot? I spell it L-E-O-N-E.ĭid you like my little poem about spilling my milk in a restaurant? Stupid, I know, so give me an F, see if I care. Leone, but face it: You don’t know squat. You think writing will get me out of here? You think words will make me forget about the past? Get real, Ms. ![]() Well, I’m trying it, see? And is it making me feel better? NO! Giving me this journal was a totally lame thing to do. You think you know what I’m going through, you think you know how I can “cope,” but you’re just like everybody else: clueless. I’m trapped in here, trying to sleep under this sorry excuse for a blanket, and I’ve just got to tell you-you don’t know squat. ![]()
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