what if my school decomposed and in its place we grew daisies?
screw forced poems in class for only
ten measly points,
and school teachers
and really just
everyone in the education system
who thinks they can form you
all to fit
inside of one big
cookie cutter.
fuck adults
trying to turn
you into someone other than who
you're destined to be —
trying to make you
the perfect student
who "fits the norm" and has
"talent".
they force you into boxes either labeled
"pass"
or "fail",
and stamp a number from
1-36 on your forehead
to categorize you
even more.
and if that's not enough,
that "pass"
or that "fail'
only determines the names
they call you at school
and where society lets you go
when you've grown
and are worth one million and five
times more
than that 16 on your ACT.
but darling,
all those numbers —
all of those fancily typed out labels
stuck to your forehead
with an Elmer's glue stick —
are just debris.
obstacles they place in the middle of the road
to try and trip you up on your path
to where you want to go
and what you want to be.
i am not a "junk mail" cardboard box
fallen off the "success" truck
and left abandoned
on some highway.
and if i am, i'm just waiting
for daisies to grow beneath me
and lift me higher toward the sky.
you are not the one who waters that garden,
nor are you going to be the one
to watch me grasp ahold of the moon —
only i can take myself there,
and only i
can make myself grow.
ple