the poopy saga

This is my second week of school and my second year of ragebaiting my art teachers. 

It all started back in the beginning of junior year when i had an assignment where we had to make cards to describe ourselves with words. (It was supposed to relate to our artist statement in the future.) but i couldnt think of any so i wrote “poopy” on one of them. My teacher repremanded me for it and emailed my mom saying i was “writing poopy on my assignments” which made her mad at me. I would then continue to write poopy in my journal (which was graded, but we had freedom to do whatever we wanted as long as we did assignments). He noticed but didnt say anything.

A few months later it was the beginning of class i was desperate for a pen because i only write with pens (don’t ask(or do, I don’t care)) and i saw one under a table so i crawled under the table to grab it. (Note that nobody was sitting at that table) and for some reason he felt that he had to comment on it while making announcements “are you gonna get out from under that table?”

Then a week or so afterwards i get called into the counselors office to talk about unrelated stuff. But at the end of out conversation she tells me that my art teacher told her that i was “crawling under the tables and writing poopy on assainments”. And i couldnt help but smile because of how ridiculous that the conversation was getting. She wanted to ask me if i was serious about the art program and if i was planning on dropping out.  I don’t even remember what I said back i just said some random bullshit to make her happy. 

Im in too deep now. Poopy is me and i am poopy. This is my identity. This is what lies within the fabrics of my subconscious. Y’all wanna make poopy a big deal I will make poopy a big deal.