Morning sounded prettier to a young girl than the afternoon.
Piegon toed and bugged eyed walking to the bustop at an early time she did not know existed
Saw the most human beings she'd ever seen in her life: 20.
In school she looked at the mass of vivacious kids and bit her tongue.
But spread her lips like butter to a boy who had hair like a ken doll.
Her bald head and gregarious heart made the seats feel less assigned.
The first assignment, everybody wrote their names with light hazel sticks.
"What is writing?" "What is this light hazel stick?" "Everyone's done but me!"
She was never fit for school.
As she snotted, pouted, and wept Miss Marino the morning kindegarten teacher said
"Joven gorrión que volará algún día" or she might as well have, the child had nebulous hearing
But the young girl knew at that moment she was not meant to learn
At least, not this way.
Held in Miss Marino's freckled arms all she wanted to do was redeem herself, to her friends
Six years it took for the young girl's impenetrable admiration for teachers, to be hacked away
By a miserly newcomer named who taught her in sixth Grade
Physically he was an ordinary man: light tan, a classy pompaduor, andwith middle class dress
But in his students' righteous eyes he was fat, obsequious, hideous, and wanton
And he lit the dynamite by picking on our heroine saying
"THAT IS WHY YOU'RE FAILING MATH SYDNEE"
She croaked and sobbed in the cimmerian nook in her book
The class shared glances of defeat because she was life, she was right, she was hope
But her shoulders stopped bobbing to a melancholic drum and she chortled
"Huh?" Marcel queried in the rear of class.
The gifted kids were out so and the true rebels roared about and they laughed along with her
She bellowed from the pit of her belly
Now she is not spanish but why would she remember what she said
It was the classroom revolution that mattered
But if there is one man who will soberly tell the tale of losing his wits from grade school kids
Quote word for word, verbatim, what she said thay day
I'm sure Mr. Degroot would be begrudged to say
However highschool was a battlefield all in its own
Every teacher debauched and morose for no reason
So she picked out their follies and presented them on a silver platter
That they threw in her face
Never making themselves better
Tons of teachers she met and did this thing which beared no fruit
Unauspicious even in the personal emails she sent in June
Bottling and Bottling her frustration inside her piegon walk, no more, glasses debuggig her eyes
She's met more than 20 people and been true to most but at this instance
She stands on the auditorium stage, teachers abound, without a song in her soul
But burning critisism
"I know you are all afraid, to be adults and not know what to do.
It's horrifying to know not what you want in life or worse, not who you are.
But do not be afraid of looking at past the image of yourself in a photograph or mirror.
Become who you want to be and do what you want to do. Do not smile at the ugly and do not
run from the beauty in life. You are teachers. Teach me how to live not to perform an algorathim.
Make me a person and not a robot. Stop faking because it hurts not only you
but gives the wrong impression to your students."
She screamed in a foreign language, so only the spanish teacher could understand.