Can't Escape Pain, Kiddo. Battle

My English Teacher Has No Face. She Has Uncombed Stringy Hair That Droops On Her Shoulders. The Hair Is Black From Her Part To Her Ears And Then Neon Orange To The Frizzy Ends. I Can't Decide If She Had Pissed Off Her Hairdresser Or Is Morphing Into A Monarch Butterfly. I Call Her Hairwoman.

Sometimes Being An Adult Means Doing The Right Thing, Even If It's Not What You Want.

We're Good At Taking Care Of Little Kids, And Spend A Lot Of Energy Teaching Them Things Like How To Read. But When Kids Get As Tall As Their Parents And Can Look Them In The Eyes, We Tend To Drop The Ball - At A Time They Most Need A Loving Consistent Community Of Adults, Be It Parents, Aunts, Uncles, Or Others.

It's Nathaniel Hawthorne Month In English. Poor Nathaniel. Does He Know What They've Done To Him? We're Reading The Scarlet Letter One Sentence At A Time, Tearing It Up And Chewing On Its Bones. It's All About Symbolism, Says Hairwoman. Every Word Chosen By Nathaniel, Every Comma, Every Paragraph Break -- These Were All Done On Purpose. To Get A Decent Grade In Her Class, We Have To Figure Out What He Was Really Trying To Say. Why Couldn't He Just Say What He Meant? Would They Pin Scarlet Letters On His Chest? B For Blunt, S For Straightforward?

She Cannot Chain My Soul. Yes, She Could Hurt Me. She'd Already Done So...i Would Bleed, Or Not. Scar, Or Not. Live, Or Not. But She Could Not Hurt My Soul, Not Unless I Gave It To Her.