You told a kid to kill herself. You got written up and laughed. You talked of jailed idols bashing queers. Then you laughed some more. You cry, “did you assume my gender?”, mocking “Tumblr SJWs”. Seconds later, you call girls like me, “he”. Of course, you understand gender identity (you call yourself an “attack helicopter”). I call myself “she”. I’d call you out for all of this – but then would I be next?

You want to talk about integrity? Or academic honesty? I watch you every day with my homework, taking all the answers, couldn’t get a zero for an “incomplete”? Ms. Maestra’s scared of you, and you get away with cheating. But I watch you read our work.

I heard about your bro, who hit a twit who had it coming. I heard him get suspended, and you said, “what a legend”. What would you say if I were hit instead?

I know you sleep throughout the class. I can hear your snores a mile away. I know the grades you get in class. But some things never change.

I’ve waited for your greener pastures, but some things never change.


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