School seems such a throughtful time,

When we're expected to be the best, learn the fastest.

Sure, sometimes the arts are taught, we learn what it is to rhyme,

We're taught every day, continually learning until we're laid in our caskets.

My mind seems likely to burst one of these days,

Filled to overflowing with other mens thoughts, ideas, theories.

A never-ending stream of past consciousnesses pressed into our memory,

Then they want us to recite it back, letting it go from pens as we write our essays.

We are asked to always remember because we know it will come back in later queries.

Enough so that the thought of being left behind is overly scary.

My independence is lost within the sameness that they want spouted back.

No room for growth.

No room for the unique.

And they want to take away the art,

Saying that its an unimportant part.

Art is where we can use paint to attack,

Music frees the heart and mind both.

Without these parts of school, the idea of independent personalities would be an antique.