I teach, They ignore, I grade, They loath, I guide, They fight, I live to serve.

It was the fourth of July, and Cynthia sighed as she walked up the sidewalk. Nothing could make this a good day. She was expected to run the family grocery store, the same thing she had done every weekend and afternoon since she turned fifteen. Holidays were nothing more than a footnote on the calendar. The walk from the apartment to the store was a short one, but her feet felt like bricks by the time she reached the metal gate that protected the windows overnight. All around her, the street...

It burns in me, like an everlasting fire. I release control of my mind, And become a creator. Words fly from my pen, They scar the paper, With thoughts, That made me mutter in my slumber. The fire becomes an ember, I awake to find, Piles of notions, I have no memory of writing.

I'll start with no, Progress through why, And end with lonely, That golden serpent forever consuming its tail, Threatens me, My spirit, My independence, Take away your ring and with it your hand, My own two will suffice.

I am a student, A student I am, With papers to write, Information to cram, The top of my desk, Resembles a book traffic jam, I am a teacher, A teacher I am.

The passion to write burns in me, like an everlasting fire. I release control of my mind, And become a creator. Words fly from my pen, They scar the paper, With thoughts, That made me mutter in my slumber. The fire becomes an ember, I awake to find, Piles of notions, I have no memory of writing.

Nothing more than a disbelieved Cassandra; with an aversion to Adonis. Her phenomenal virtues are tied in perfect curls; straining her thoughts with their weight. While She treads lightly in slippers of glass; which slice her feet to the bone. Wearing robes like mirrors; smooth and honest. No one escapes her own reflection; a truth Cassandra can’t speak.

Reviews make me sick Sneezing with each word I read Snot on the keyboard

It was yet another dull day at work. Customers coming and going, the phone ringing whenever I least expected it, then a knock at the back door. The UPS driver was there to deliver more stock. Oh goodie. I started unpacking boxes and came across something odd. Duck butts. An ingenious company carved the back end of a duck out of cheap wood, painted it various colors and stuck it on a metal stake. I believed this to be unusual as well as a complete waste of time and money. "No fool will pay for...

I blame my mother for my current addiction to the written word. She refused to allow my brother and me to languish in front of the television over summer vacation, and signed us up for the children's program at the public library every year. Within those hallowed walls I learned to appreciate and enjoy books. I can remember wandering through the stacks, collecting a tower of books and walking carefully to the counter to check them out. Over the years, I moved from enjoying picture books like...