She says, "I'm afraid you do not understand the assignment"

I reply by looking up at her with eyes solid enough to keep out the body fear himself.

She says, "Oh, no. That's not what I meant for you to write about. I thought you would get it"

I respond by balling up the already finished project and shoving it into my backpack.

She says, "This is not what I asked for at all. You have to redo it for complete credit"

I anwser by reopening the once shut notebook and pull a pen back out of my pocket.

She says, "This is wrong. All of it is wrong"

And then I respond by slowly standing up, walking to the front of the class,

that already have words playing leap frog in their mouths.

I reach the front of the classroom, and the frogs stop leaping. 

I say not a word, to refrain from showing disrespect, and I take my notebook into my hand, and opens it to the first page. 

I read " What that teacher says to write about today"

"She sayd write about how I feel today, and I did. I wrote to her, how I am tired, how I just wanna be freed from these gates of hell she traps us in our writting, free from this prison that contains our rhymes, free from the chains that keep our words from flying off of the page, so when it's read, it feels like it comes from the authors own mouth. She tells what to write, how to write, when to write and even who to write it too. But one thing is for sure she can never tell me, is why I write. " 

The class is silent, as I almost walk out of her classroom, but then turns back.

"I don't write because because this poetry prison guard says it's time too, I write because when she says it's time too, I used it as my excuse to write, without worrying about going home with a pen and journal being snatched of my claws, and torn to pieces just because. I write because when she says to, it's the chains being taken off my words and finally letting them fly out into the distance past the gates of hell she chomps down on to grade my paper. So know this, 'teacher' I do understand the assinment, I do get it, I won't redo it for 'credit', and it is NOT wrong, NONE OF IT IS! You may be able to control what I write, who I write too, and even what I get for it, but will never be able understand, comprehend, or even dechiper, and definately not control why I write, because now you know, it's not just for your class, which is my excuse too. "

I walk slowly back to my seat, and sit down. I close my notebook, and put it in my backpack and my pen in my pocket and say lastly " This is why I write."

From that moment forward there were no more playing of leap frog in their mouths, they all knew what that wanted to say along. "This is why we write, and we write to be heard."