My Teacher is my Muse

So, I did not offer another semester this semester, so I received this course. My choice is awkward. I mean otaku's advanced Latin, high-end Dorks bowling, or creative self. I always think that poetry is a kind of non-serious art, a girl of a kind of flake, but I have written a lot with the lyrics with teenage anxiety mostly, but how much is this still Is it? Different - I might treat them as new verses using just old songs.

Laughter was my museum in my childhood as there is always a charm that can not be explained when attracting attention. I have a recognized desire (obviously not from the teacher, but from my colleagues), and there is nothing more satisfying than a smile to my immature friend's teeth. I was politely sitting at their desk, my poor classmate was trying to quietly enjoy lunch, but I thought it was a meal that it did not do. Then I will lie on top of my juice box. Unfortunately, my stunt failed; the juice just poured out of the container without creating the mushroom cloud that I imagined. Despite this disappointment, my friends responded as expected, jumped out of the range of expected blasts, cried out and shouted, and to a strange few people, the medicine I wanted most Gave. Hi is great, my ecstasy is short lived.

In my dream, my museum is always a man. There are often elements of erotic desire, but these are not erotic meditations. When I was blocked, my museum faced, silently, even elusive and dazzling. Once, he was a young Johnny Depp flirting with me; sometimes he was tired from getting old. Recently, we seem to have established a healthier relationship. This morning I woke up from another museum's dream. This time he is my partner; he looks like me with a curly smile, but he has confidence (my shy place) with fun and confidence. We are with a detective and hide the concealed sin together. I fully trust him; I know he will keep me and keep it effective