Sh*t You can’t say to your teachers
Through a focus I see my future ahead of me,
But I can’t reach my goals unless
My teacher sees the possibilities in me.
I am not a project of this society;
I am the individual the teachers tend not to see,
Acknowledge my presence,
That I am not another dumb misled adolescent,
Brought up in a urban setting.
Kids like me
Living in single parent homes
Better known as “hoodlums”
Is how the teachers referred me
Smart kid but no direction.
Because I learned the difference between selling a rock
Before I learned the basics of an algebraic expression
Is how I’m viewed from teachers with a basic understanding.
she’s just another kid with a vague mind
Answers that don’t even apply
But teachers don’t care about the
Tears that flow from a scholars eyes.
Forced to prove a statistic
that no one else bothered with
they’re not so optimistic
Our mentals are screwed
Statistic this statistic that
as an African American we’re forced to prove that it’s not due to our marital status nor the
Intellectual facts but due to our skins complexion
Which is black
Or better yet being set on a stool
because of what we’ve been through
but I guess being “BLACK” is how I’m viewed.
Guide that inspired this poem: