I’m beginning to think.

This is all an act-

Let me set the scene.

 

The first time I was disciplined

 at school I was five years old

Staring out the window

at the trees and instead of letting me study

 the way the wind elegantly

 graced green needles,

They put me in a box,

And let me look at paper.

 

I remember the first time I had my creativity stripped

 from me Because grass can’t

be purple the sky can’t be grey

They took away my watercolors and gave me a black

 marker

Because I have to see the world how it is not

 how I want it to be-

there I was, eight years old, being taught that realism

 is the truth and abstract is obsolete-

Instead of teaching me to appreciate

the composition, they teach me to scrutinize

 every brushstroke, nothing

 is beautiful unless every I is dotted and every t is crossed and all the rules

 have been adhered to.

 

It is because of this that at ten years old

My first dissection

 was of my reflection –

because they taught me No

work of art is good unless

 every line is symmetrical,

 balanced,

 and perfect.

 

And they wonder

 why we’re so hard on one another when they taught us from a young age that kindness is conditional and judgement should be partial

And they laced

 it with superficiality

 as “the golden rule”; A name as obsessed

with luster as those who follow it-

“ill be nice to you if you be nice to me”

as a result kindness

 is synonymous

 with vulnerability

And vulnerability

 is seen as disability

And disability

makes you different

And anyone who is different

 is wrong.

 

They don’t tell you that in the real

world, impartial kindness

is the key

to achieving

the peace

we promote

on our headbands.

 

I remember the first time I had holes ripped

 into my imagination with poignant

 red X’s.

Because there’s only seven colors,

No shades or tints,

Youre wrong or youre right,

No grey

Just black and white

Failure is never

 an option, Its not possible because it hasn’t happened yet.

 

They teach you thirteen years of education is enough

to succeed

in the real world but

Fate will never

make me choose

between a b c or d, and when I make real world decisions

 there’s not an equally likely chance I will succeed

if I guess.

 

This is not education.

This is hanging a cloud

 over my head when I am trying to shine.

 

If education is really what I need to make it in this world,

Don’t teach me how to get by, don’t teach me from behind glass windows,

Don’t treat me like a test subject.

Don’t teach me the traditional methods,

Teach me how to tear down the walls and use the brick to build a path.

 

Give me a mentor.

Give me someone who will facilitate my discoveries and encourage my endeavors,

Someone who will instill within me the courage and passion to explore the possibilities.

Give me someone who realizes my worth cannot be measured by a test score or scantron misprints,

Give me someone who will influence me  to set a goal, and someone who will help me get there.

Instead of giving me someone who will hand me answers and demand that I explain in three sentences or more,

Give me someone who will hand me a shovel,

And let me unearth them myself.

 

You say there’s no such thing as a child left behind

But I have been covered in dust since the day I was forbidden from reading ahead.

 

It’s time for a change.