ripped notebook,
and the broken mirror looks,
as you scribble,
without judgment,
but with deep concentration.
it tries to make out what is written,
but your handwriting is too sloppy,
for its cracked windows to the world,
to read.
did you hear the news?
the scribbles turned into artistry,
which blossomed and flowered into what,
ironically,
all the brainwashed adolescence,
human beings study,
in english class,
learning off pre-written sheets,
just to pass.
