Add that

I refuse to be convinced that doing my homework is more important than any other facet of my life.

 

My history teacher stands up in front of the class. Bouncing on the heels of her feet. Rolling forward and spewing words that I refuse to believe, “I expect you all to do about two hours of homework every day.”

 

Add that hour to the hour for math, the hour for reading in literature, the hour for biology, the hour for art research.

 

My friends and I sit on the bleachers in the gym. We chit chat before school starts and inevitably the topic pops up. It snakes through our tired faces and our lethargic conversation. One person asks about an assignment and then it is a hailstorm of complaining.

 

Someone, who has not picked the same “rigorous” classes as us has to chime in, offer their viewpoint, “Well, you decided to take those hard classes. So you can’t complain about how much homework you have.”

 

It doesn’t matter that I picked to take some classes. It matters that there are people who have no conception of what a human life is worth.

 

Yes, I want to learn. 

I’m not mad that I get this amazing opportunity to be exposed to so many topics.

But I am mad.

Mad that no one realizes that handing a 17-year-old six hours of homework is

Not something

I

Can do.

Even if I had six hours of my life to spare,

Why would I shove my face in a book for six consecutive hours of fact consumption,

Memorization,

To spit it back out on a scantron,

Lined pages,

And

Computer screens.

I don’t want to learn so I can pass exams,

And shove numbers in people’s faces,

I want to prove to myself that I am capable of surviving this world.

Of meeting people who let me climb mountains and leap off chasms.

If I have to sacrifice my mental health,

Relaxation,

Reflection,

Sleep,

I’d rather live in the village at the bottom of the mountains.

I’d rather stay at the edge of the cliff.

I’d rather live sheltered and hidden from the truth.

Because getting an education is a game

With trophies

But mostly losers.

 

My friend rushes into the art room and stands in front of me. Her face is flushed, the cold seeps out of her from the air outside, “I stayed up ‘til four last night and I didn’t get anything done. I think I’m going to have a mental breakdown.”

 

 

Comments

Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.
 

 

If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741