How Teachers wish they could respond to emails. ;)

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Hello, this is John Doeson. I’m a student from your Effective Communications 978 class. I noticed that my grades are very low and I am gravely concerned for my success within your class. I am unsure of what I can do to ensure that I pass your class on my own and am reaching out to you for some dire assistance. Is it possible that you can give me some extra credit work to do that can bring my grade up to a passing score? Please let me know what can be done as soon as you can, I would greatly appreciate it. Thank you very much.

sincerely,

John Doeson

P.S. please?

 

Dear John Doeson,

I’m really not sure what to tell you.

If I may be so bold, you barely come to class anyway, and when you do, you run to the bathroom and never come back every time I play an instructions video in class. Your stay can be as little as just five minutes into the session. Not only that, throughout the day you constantly insist on scribbling in that handy dandy diary that you always bring with you. You take no notes, stare down texting on your phone all day, and raise your hands to make obnoxious left field comments. Let me just also add my fellow brother, that you sure have no trouble at all flirting with that Caucasian student Hannah that sits behind you.

Maybe if I moved her seating position you would pass this course.

-Sincerely, Professor Scott. P.S. Read. The. Chapters…Dumbass.

 

Copyrightcopyright February 18, 2019

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Hanging on Weighted Prayers

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The hour is blackened with strife;

the heavy wretched crushing weight of reality;

like when the plague of England gathers upon the living flesh, I am rendered–

my faith in the balance, the citadel of my happiness, about ready to crumble over;

and my prayers are like the mortar–

without faith, my soul is moreover;

when the evil creeps in, with widened eyes and hatred;

wearing humans for faces–

there is no peace, for they feed upon the chaos.

Chaos is without power when without numbers, and this I know–

that without prayer and the power of an answered one;

I am floating within this space alone–

Copyrightcopyright February 15, 2019

Inlustris (Starlight)

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The soul is an eye searching the endless light;

endlessly awakening the night–

The heart is a beating orb, holding the mana of life;

stirring across the clouds of Elysium’s might–

a swing of air, into the lungs of our breathing;

and into the mind, seeing is believing;

into the flight of ourselves we gather in bulk our living skin;

shapening flesh into armor as if a knight;

endlessly depleting this blight–

Copyrightcopyright February 9, 2019

The Earl of Demise

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The swinging hills that speak in a past language;

the art of war, in sign language;

shrugging shoulders, and who cares?

The mindless walking empty despair–

the faces smiling, with a rose across the cheeks;

staring up at the four walls, for weeks and weeks–

the mind is a battlefield, full of relentless fury;

the fury is just your whirlwind of emotions,

amidst a conscience faded and blurry–

blurry like your vision for the future that dips like red paint across your skin and veins;

the once-known and known-once, like an ounce of doubt;

around a shroud-

at the tapestry of dystopia’s midmorning gray–

the cold is cold even when the cold is handed to us in a warm handshake;

the eyelids twitch. The under eyelids fidget;

our corneas tremble the sockets with earthquakes-

And where can one witness man-made quakes? Right there across the goosebumps’ of her arm.

In the middle of a frozen chest called the heart.

A back-stab, is a form of art.

For an earthquake; the room that tremors?

Is just our rage bottling up, with a sweaty despair–

visions of sunflowers fields, with landmines across the playgrounds?

In the air, in the air, and in the air…

Copyrightcopyright February 7, 2019

Freedom From The Giant Hands of Discomfort~Hurub Alhuriya

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It’s a shame their country’s men oppresses what should be free.

The maiden covered, the golden rays like a bird in a cage.

She sings with a scarf across her desert sands;

her eyes shadowed by the fear of mankind-

she dances and is imprisoned.

The glowing sea is embraced only by the men;

The steering wheel of lust set in–

the face that glows with the blushing warmth of these ancient lands–

the landmines act as the ground’s hands to ensnare Elysium’s waltz-

these ancient lands upon the ground; 

the same ground mankind treads.

The flowing garment of her, by ends–

let your Father walk these distant lands–

the mother is in search of;

and the whites of our eyes the etchings of a soul;

the scarf many colors;

the shawl the sun covered aloft.

The day in where mankind embraces fate;

Eve is a gift that should be freed from mankind’s  hate–

upon ancient hopes that were once thought lost–

Copyrightcopyright February 2, 2019