Sorry, No Conprendo I Don't

Because Whipping An Atlas At Jackson's Head While He Was Flirt-touching That Frankie Girl In Geography Would Have Been Very Satisfying. And Beating Him With The Eiffel Tower Snowglobe While He Kissed Cleo In French Would Have Been Tres Cathartic. But She Hadn't. Instead She'd Been Egg-like: A Hard Shell On The Outside, And A Runny Mess On The Inside.

She Raced For Him, Propelled By The Strength Of A Thousand Regrets.

I Like Writing About The Issues We All Bump Up Against As We Get Older, But I Try To Present Them In A Fun Way.

The Confusing Lesson Whipped Frankie's Anger Into Something She Had Never Felt Before. It Was Like An Emotional Meringue - The Airy Feeling Of Loneliness Topped With The Hard Crisp Of Injustice. Yet Its Taste Was Far From Sweet.

After Each Dream, Frankie Woke With A Start, Soaked In Tears. But She Found No Relief In The Peaceful Silence Of Her Room, Because There Everything Was Real. And The Guilt Was Too Immense To Bear. Each Time She Opened Her Eyes, She'd Quickly Shut Them. And Wish That She Had Woken Up For The Very Last Time.