by Phoebe Stuckes

I felt like I was drowning in an endless shingle of X’s and Y’s.
I wanted to build a fort of cereal boxes in between me, and them, I wanted to hurl text books at them like a noisy hermit.
Instead I gave up, doodled on school desks, ruled out engineering as a profession.
Is it possible to feel aeronautical, beneath graph plotted stars?
I wanted to draw a positive correlation, from me to you. No marks (?)
No marks at all (-)
It doesn’t matter how pretty your handwriting is.