By VANESSA TIAN
Sitting at my desk,
Counting down the minutes,
“I want to go home,” I think,
I don’t want to learn about paintings that are romanesque.
Drumming my fingers on my desk,
Counting down the seconds,
“This is a great work of art,” the teacher exclaims.
“This painting is so picturesque!”
But I think it’s rather grotesque,
The colors are so violent.
“I just want to go home,” I whisper,
My room is soothing and silent.
This day seems never ending,
Why did I even show up?
The last bell pending,
In this class I am attending,
The teacher never seems to shut up.
I look out the window,
And drift off into space.
The trees swaying in the wind,
The children laughing in the yard,
“That’s art,” I realize.
“That’s what we all chase.”