This desk. The desk where I spend so much of my time. Covered in scratches and marks of the kids that sat here before me. In this desk, I'm defined by a few letters on a page. Where I know my opinion doesn't matter, but they act like they care. This desk consumes so much of my life. I spend all day here, and then go home and finish my work. This desk. “Be creative, be yourself.” Says he desk. “But don't do this, or you won't fit in.” “What about this?” I ask hopefully. “No! What are you thinking?! You can't do that!!” Snaps the desk. I was confused. “But you said..” I begin. “I meant the other kind of creative! Here are the instructions. Follow them or you won't fit.” This desk. It tells me to be creative and to be myself. But it wants me to fit into to a shape that I'm not. I'll never fit into this desk. I hate this desk.