She parades through the french doors of the school every morning,

ready to start the day with her books huddled against her striped shirt tied hot pink bow tie.

Head gear occasionally clipping the side of the door as she takes her entry.

I don’t care about that.

Goons come hurdling out of nowhere to the forefront, preparing to obstruct her positive lenses.

Linked together like a chain to support their own ignorance

in interrogating her.

Whacking the books out of her hand, taking her bow tie away,

dangling it above her head.

They just stand there.

Pointing and laughing, making a circle around her.

Salty rivers leak to the tile floor, her face turns red,

she prays for a miracle to end this hell.

You need a guardian.

Standing by no longer. An overdue holler protrudes from my lips with a

bang! bang!

Knocking on their door to their thick skulls,

telling them to go back down the floor.

What did I do?

The next thing I know they charge me, a herd of bulls and I’m ready for the horns.

Shoving me down taking my shoe,

smashing my glasses against the floor.

Chicken fat in my hair unraveling

through the constant shoving.

I don’t care about that.

They depart. Back to the hell they came from.

Limping over to her with one shoe on, vision blurry I eventually

make out her figure.

As I approach her bubble her face is revealed.

Wiping the tears from her eyes,

I bend down to get her property scattered all over the floor.

Her smile permeates through the metal on her face.

We embrace, as the pain melts away at such a rapid pace.

Her tongue is twisted with a lost of words, her eyes are slit from the sodium of her tears.

But, I don’t care about that.

I’m your buddy holly, and you are my Mary Tyler Moore.