When she said,
“Somewhere across the world, there is a fourteen-year-old girl,
with a bullet in her head
because all she wanted was to go to school,”
I wanted to cry.
Because I had heard about Malala Yousafzai the week before.
And I wanted to cry with her.
But I also wanted to say, “Are our educational complaints rendered inaccurate?
Now that our struggle is less than hers.”
I wanted to storm into her stern office and tell her
that we, the students, are what is important.
We, the students of the United States without the Black Bloc to advocate for us.
We, the students, of rapid tuition raises, of loans,
of college prep.
Education is no privilege, but it is a right.
When she said, “You’re acting immature.”
I wanted to cry.
I wanted to say, “You see immaturity, but I see a youth movement.
You hear children, and I hear voices, raised in protest.”
So I walked out,
into my movement, that of social justice,
egalitarianism, labor.
And labor, we will. Until our voices, we,
the students,
will sing.