Mooresville Intermediate School

2K _{on Google}

Apr 5th, 2024

There bootys stinks

Kermit And Elmo _{on Google}

May 13th, 2022

Good school, good friends

Kee Meh _{on Google}

Apr 29th, 2018

The man the man was here

Heiner _{on Google}

Mar 14th, 2018

boi

Lani Luvve _{on Google}

Aug 16th, 2023

Going into that school I had hope, I was excited to meet new people and friends. I was in 4th grade, 10 weeks in and that smile was wiped clean off my face. Reality struck and I finally realized what the 5th graders meant when they said I hate this school or when the 6th graders leaving were crying of relief and not loss of the school . The first time I was ever yelled at by a teacher was in 4th grade, I didnt want to be called a snitch so I tried my hardest to be like the bad kids. In elementary I was one of if not THE best students overall. the stress and pressure that school put on me made me feel suffocated, I had to break out of the ice and grip onto life I didnt have time to worry about grades. I remember going to the bathroom to breathe out the lump in my throat and when that didnt work I tried to throw it up. In 6th grade I thought the bubble gum was for everyone but was met with iss. I was innocent all of 10 weeks, they claim I robbed them but they did it first. Going into 5th grade the bullying was so intense I swear i saw the lump bulging out my throat. Running out of options to get it out I tried to cut it out. It was no longer the students pressuring me it was what teachers loose assuming minds looming over me like a fly around honey expected me to do. Every morning theyre trigger happy eyeing me up and down picking at what I was doing wrong. I was marked. I no longer smiled with innocence, I laughed at the shell of who I was. 6th grade, when I settled myself I tried to scrub off the mark left by others and rumors spread myself. I could no longer breathe in the bathroom, everyone doing dances and spraying perfume was taking up all the air. So I would cry instead, yet every time I did a teacher would drag me back to class. At a certain point I couldnt cry anymore. I was dry, squeezed like a wet rag full of emotions.
Not knowing who I was or how to act I copied the emotions of others around me, standing up every morning like a machine to recite the pledge safe, respectful, and responsible yeah right. Those with power overused it, those with none were scared. Every now and then in between the organized war, between black and white I could see people of all kind just like me. Every time I wanted to get out of grayscale I would bang, and bang, and bang some more trying to dislodge the lump giving me room to speak. When I left the factory that punched numbers descriptions and holes I saw clarity in who I am, and mourned the loss of what I was. They don't think about the students, they dont care about feelings and they didnt care about me. Im starting to rebuild myself and the lump is slowly starting to fade away.