The Misadventures of Owen Bonner

Chapter Nine

            In our Modern World History class, we were assigned a project for the Italian Renaissance. Basically, there were six options that somehow, someway, related to the rebirth of education and art. And yet, with six options to choose from, I didn’t want to do any of them. The first option was to carve a sculpture out of clay, not play-doh, fucking clay from Michael’s. I have very little to no artistic ability, so I scoffed at that one and moved on. The second one was to draw a painting, which again, I shook my head.

        The third one was really stupid, I’m not kidding. It was about sports… because sports were a huge thing in the Renaissance. I guess my history teacher just wanted to incorporate things that could suit everyone, even though it didn’t really suit the Renaissance.

         The fourth was a personal essay on something that’s wrong in our society and how we should go about changing it. I considered this one, since I don’t mind writing essays, and I even thought I could talk about “The Almighty Gender War” or “Feminism: A Post-Beyonce World” just for shits and giggles, but I don’t think the surplus of feminist double standards or the abundance of male inferiority could fit on two pages. The fifth was a creative writing piece, where you’d have to construct your own Utopia, but I felt that was too hard because a perfect world just isn’t realistic to me. Finally, there was one option.

            To write a sonnet. I don’t usually read poetry unless it’s by Dr. Seuss or that nine-minute beat poem I had to memorize in eighth grade by Tim Minchin called “Storm”. I didn’t want to do it and I was strongly against it, so in order to piss everyone off I repeated a nine-minute poem that mocked spirituality, alternative medicine, religion, and the thought of magic while simultaneously using the word “fuck” a couple times. Needless to say, I didn’t get very far before my teacher dragged me to the principal’s office, called up my parents, and made me redo the project with a poem of her choice. Anyways, point is, I don’t like poems. But it was the last thing I could do and the only problem was is that it said the poem had to be about something you love. And well, that’s exactly what I did, just a bit more sarcastic than my history teacher might have liked.

        There are not many things I like

        But there is one thing I find cool

        And although I would love to say “ha, psych!”

        I would have to say it’s school

 

        I love the fact that after first period

        I don’t feel like putting a bullet through my head

        Despite the fact I feel immensely inferior

        It actually happens after second or third-ish period dread

 

        I love the fact my peers think they’re so deep

        They cry to MCR and watch the world with one eye

        And they want you to think their thoughts run so steep

        Despite the fact they carve them on their sleeve saying, “I want to die.”

 

        This is the part I’m supposed to turn

        And talk about my opposing side

        And what I hate about the place I use to learn

        But that would mean that I would have lied

 

        I love the apparent dress code

        You know, the one that our senior leaders tell us about while wearing short-shorts?

        It really puts you in a, “well this is ironic” mode.

        And really makes you wonder if there is such a thing as violation reports.

 

        Or when they tell girls to cover their shoulders

        Because men are animalistic with no self-control

        That a pair of sexy shoulders

        Is worth calling the police patrol

        I love that people don't realize they have legs to walk

        When I'm in the hallway and in a rush

        They decide to it's the perfect time to talk

        When I just want their heads to freaking crush

        I love that sports overrides education

        That the football team's new equipment is more important

        Than a library's liberation

        Oh god no, that'd be abbhorent

        I love people who think they're different

        Whether it's from watching anime or listening to punk rock

        When, in reality, they are just a little carbon pigment  

        Created by having their mom being penetrated by a... nevermind 

        And I know this is awfully long

        But I can’t help but tell you about the school I love

        And I know I can’t possibly be wrong

        When I’ve talked about all of the above

 

        I will add one more thing

        About how I love my inevitable boredom

        When I just can’t help but sing

        That everyone here is a freaking moron

 

        Surprisingly, I got a B- for effort and spelling.

A/N: Why do authors apologize for updating "late"? Dude, it's not your job or your overdue library book. - Parker