For history I’m writing 10 poems about To Kill a Mockingbird (yes, history. I’m writing poetry on a classic novel for a project in history. I must go to a public school in Utah, or something silly like that). The book’s lovely, I absolutely adored it. I didn’t like how scout’s faith in human kind was restored in the end, however; she lives in the south, where cynicism and a semi-fatalistic mentality conquer all, baby! What’s this horrid sanguinity I sense? I’ve decided that I’d focus on 3 of the poems and turn in 7 cliché, redundant pieces. I brainstormed with Amy Jo today in trig, and, with Jo’s brilliant assistance, I managed to summon up this:

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
In this book whites hate blacks,
And the blacks hate them too.

That's right, my dearest Miss Lee. Keep on rolling over in that grave of yours!