Attention-Deficit vs. The System/ This One's for the Visionaires

Tue, 04/29/2014 - 02:37 -- smanova

In kindergarten, my mother was called in because

I read when they sung the songs,

sang while they counted numbers,

counted etches in the desk while the class did

something else. 

I was tested and placed in an advanced learning program a short week afterwards.

 

(I didn't regret

the morning fantasies painted with

language in the books. Recess, recess-pieces breakfast,

the scratches on the tables were sharp grasses on the lawn,

the type you couldn't walk on

barefoot.)

 

In the second grade, Mrs. Dawn taped down permenant labels on the corner of our desks.

Transparent masking tape, permenant, "stay on task", it said.

I got a sticker or two for it. 

(In some corner of of my fist-sized heart,

an intangible pain bloomed

with each glance

in that direction.)

I took a test. Advanced mathematic placement, fourth grade.

I always lost the homework.

(That was when I knew

I was no good at math.)

Sixth grade, yellow slip. Yellow slip, again,

missing assignments, again,

another test which placed me with the smart kids

again.

But I was not one of them, really. 

"Some kids are not cut out for such

rigerous acadmia"

Again. 

(I was old enough to swear.

I was old enough to know that

I was tired of hearing 

that shit.)

I met a few of my kind in high school.

There was nothing wrong with them.

Genius, in my eyes.

With minds too active to simply

sleep in routine. 

They were the visionaires. 

(And god, did they suffer.

Struggle against

everything. They put us at the bottom

assumed our stupidity,

assumed our incompetence,

drove us into depression,

because we couldn't turn in our assignments on time.

I remember thinking,

I am not disordered. This system is.)

We've grown up a bit. 

I've grown up.

I've got a vision. 

I've got a vision because I could never stand to simply

be mediocre again,

only ordinary again,

miss the boat,

when I was not any of those things,

at all.

How could I hide a mind

made of webs and webs of streaming thought

fascinating enough to distract me from reality?

(And now I know why

the system does not work in our favor.

They are afraid of us.)

Now, when I speak.

I see it in beneath their silence.

I understand, now. 

They are afraid of

people like us.

They are afraid of the visionaires. 

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