Poison Ivy


6127 silva st
United States
33° 50' 53.2356" N, 118° 6' 44.0424" W

The first time I picked up a pen to write -

to write with purpose, searing intent stored in my mind -

I was liberated, overjoyed!

I was to let ring the deepest thoughts I could find:

That I played hopscotch with Bekky at recess and I wanted a Barbie Dreamhouse.


But I don't do that anymore;

when I write, a mechanical hand

controls the movements that I make.

Index finger pushed forward -

a scratching sound on paper is a shrieking cry

and the click clack of the keyboard are the computation of a collegiate admissions officer.


I only write what they want to hear and their wishes for me should be wise so why can't I help looking out the window... Something wonderful whispers wordy thoughts that whirl and wind like water, willfully through my mind, but that's when Ivy wraps me round, chains me to a chair and whisks away all that would ever be.


So, add a few more classes, here and there.

One more extracurricular,

I don't care.

I'm doing what I have to to get ahead -

just as "well rounded" as everyone else -

so does it matter if we all feel dead?


Each will be accepted to a place of prestige.

Each one knowing they're entitled to the best,

Every one without an independent thought

Each just hoping to please a boss

Too frightened to take a risk

Each the future of our world.


It started in thrid grade when teacher said,

"Sorry kids, we'll have to stop writing our stories because we have to prepare for testing instead,"

in that mournful voice that held such sweet sorrow behind each syllable.


Reversing our growing disconnection to humankind and the dreams within ourselves

requires harrowing up the soul with words,

words that churn,


and rise from our toes to within our minds.


A child writing is especially magnificent

because the only voice that compells them is their own.

Their words cut through sorrow and sort out the mess

and Ivy won't be reaching in to feed the pulsations of their brains.

In that freedom of the mind

novel thought breaks the erudite molds academia is designed to oppose.

Because with a pen you are set free

and then these institutions can become what they were supposed to be:

A place to speak your mind, no matter who might disagree.



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