School is not my forte.
Daydreams of melodies frolic through my mind
But the pencil is forced to scribble foreign equations.
Confused. Frustrated. Lost in a tangle of intricate formulas.
Study. Fail the test. Study. Fail the test.
Stab at my already open wounds.
Drench me in the poison of your words.
Leave me to bleed out in front of my peers.
Their pity stiches me with an infected needle.
"Success is impossible for those that fail."
"Compassion is not deserved by those that fail."
My body may accept your poison,
But my soul fights to expel it.
I will not be labeled by the red F you have marked upon my chest.
Why do you hope I will be shamed like Hester?
You are a murderer of destiny;
Killing dreams and raising bitterness from the grave.
Do I not bleed the same color as your star pupil?
Disease has begun.
I am infected
With hate and self-destruction.
Rose colored glasses reveal a cure,
And I am tripping through an unfamiliar path to success.
Your daggers will hang as defeated trophies on my wall.
Suitably placed adjacent to my diploma.
I stand in an army of fighters.
Our battle helmets thrust into the open air
With a last victory cry.
Love your students as if they are all the star pupil.
See potential where they may not.
Unlock their passion.
Do not build brick walls upon their path.
Warm them with compassion when they enter the threshold.
Hoist them on their shoulders,
For they may come from a home in which they are thrown upon the ground.
New goal, sir.
Make a student think instead of making them think less of themselves.