A letter to my teachers:

Dear teachers

I am neither montague or capulet.

I am Jefferson-Glipa one hundred percent. 

I am African American, Hawaiian, Filipino, French and polish. 

With a lineage having roots nourished by every continent,

I should blossom in the fresh dew of your world history and literature.

Yet, my sap drips in the pruning of your education. 

The Habsburgs snip snip

Laurence of Arabia snip

Voltaire

Napoleon snip snip.

John Locke

Socrates snip snip.

These, glorified as the gardeners of our world, (metaphor)

have never nourished my roots.

I wither in their shadows of imperialism and power.

Cry the Beloved Country snip snip.

The Crucible snip 

Lord of the Flies

Fahrenheit 451 snip snip

The Red Pony. 

Great Expectations snip snip.

These pages exalted as our classics,

instead of un-shackling our imagination,

press our minds into carbon-copies.

Dear teachers 

Brittany Morris writes that reading is an act of decolonization, 

because reading expands your mind 

past your world view. 

But when I check out required reading,

The only view I see is from the banks of the Rhine and the White Cliffs of Dover

Dear teachers 

My entire education has been 

filtered 

censored 

it feels like 

like the daily shot of medication given to everyone in The Giver

except instead of eliminating color it,

eliminates

civilizations,

 continents,

histories,

my history.

Dear teacher 

Don't believe everything you read in a history book 

authors lie!

Dear teachers 

No I am not required to go to a separate school. 

But you spray The Kingdom of Kush, 

The Monarchy of Queen Liliuokalani, 

The Rajahnate of Cebu,

 as weeds to be exterminated.

In the absence of light, 

organisms find creative ways to survive.

I am Eukaryotic.

My cells create a membrane of knowledge and explorative curiosity,

a layer of protection sheltering my nucleus. 

Your vacuum is the catalyst that sparks my bioluminescence

that feeds on Queen Amanirenas, Queen Nerfertiti, Queen Hatshepsut.

These names hydrate my roots.

Yet my books have no mention of them.

I continue to be pruned and starved in my learning,

Yet I will extend my roots past the boundaries of your cannon and standards

I will become a cactus who stores information for the dry season. 

I will use my neural network to access life.

So please spare me you watering.

Your drip drip-Abraham Linclon

Your drop drop-Ms. Rosa Parks

Your splash splash-Dr. King

My fingers absorb exhibitions of Diverse History in the absence of rich soil.

But Beware of the lessons you teach,

 I will mutate them to my advantage, 

I will adapt for my survival.

I will thrive!!