Horses They know when you're happy They know when you're sad They know when you're joyful Or just feeling mad They also know when you have carrots.

"Rant About Teachers" That was what my essay was about. We were in English and our teacher is as boring as spending time off to go to see a black&white in the cinema with your grandma. The worst part is having to listen to all the old people sniffling and crying whilst a bad actor on an even worse wage pretends to die. Anyway, we were told to "choose a topic that's interesting and write about it". Now, let me clear a few things up with you first of all: 1. Teachers, of any sort, do NOT interest me. Saying this is like saying you would rather watch an ant run at a slower pace than your PE teacher instead of watching TV. It's a lie. Especially in my Dad's case. 2. It isn't off topic. They said choose a subject that interests you. Well, re-reading a rant I've produced about teachers is interesting. And funny. 3. It's easy. It's not that I'm lazy. I just find it easy because I am pretty much an expert on the subject of "annoying things teachers do". Anyone could be an exert. You just have to be a high schooler who has to sit in front of a few different ones who all look the same. So read on to see the essay I got called in for. I personally think it's true, every word. "RANT ABOUT TEACHERS" By: Genna Bland-Moore So I have this teacher yeah? The ultra boring one everyone has. And say you have to write an essay. You are made to write your name, age, birth date, hobbies and interests, near-death experiences etc... When really you'd rather be at home playing Xbox. But you do it because you have to for said assignment and stuff. Which is stupid. Load of old tosh. Why? Well whose going to read this anyway? Most likely your teacher. One like mine, whom I mentioned vaguely at the beginning. Imagine your's reading all of this sacred information about you. That one you hate. Crooked nose. Brown suit pink tie. That one. That one who, in reality, really does not give two hoots about you or what you're writing. Yeah, that one. And they don't care why? Because most likely they have one of those drawers under lock an key like all teachers have, filled with important-looking documents. NOTE: Important-LOOKING. Really, they're about you. And all the other random members of the class. But we can forget about them 'cause they aren't important. So, not only are they a hated teacher with a crooked nose and bad dress sense, they're a NOSY one too. So, a sum-up: You write all this because he wants you to... scratch that... because he's paid to ask you to, when in reality he doesn't read it 'cause he ALREADY KNOWS IT. How violated does your privacy feel now eh? Then he ticks it and you're none the wiser. The End.

Clear, Crystal, Pure The window is steamy with vapour From the night before I see one trailing down, slowly Clear, Crystal, Pure I draw some figures on this window But there is no room for more As the falling drops take up most of the space Clear, Crystal, Pure My mother sees the outlines "Don't be so immature!" The cool drops run down to cover them Clear, Crystal, Pure I'm looking out of the widow Although I am unsure How these little raindrops Can be so Clear, Crystal, Pure In my bedroom that night I look down at the floor Still I think about why those drops Can be Clear, Crystal, Pure Then the thought arrives On what they could be for Me and the world to enjoy the beads Of Clear, Crystal, Pure