Mar 2018
I could grip the paper
Nudge it with my fist
Why could I not just think
And the words form on the page
But they gave me a pen from on high
And pointed to that paper
They urged me to write, write
This is how you write
This is how good children write
I want to be good
But I just could not write
My marks were on all sides of the paper
But they could not form a word
I could not spell my name on the page
I could say it out loud
Or rather shyly
Out of the corner of my mouth
But I could not write my name
On the corner of the page
I held onto the pen with all my fingers
First with one hand, then with both fists
I put holes inside that paper
What have I done?
Because I figured I had nothing left
I was all emptied out
I just wanted to give up
It was only fair to take my anger out on this paper
Because even though I wanted to respond
The paper was silent
The paper refused to reply
And in its silence it said everything
My hand hurt
My fists refused to close
Tears were on my face
On the paper
Tears of rage
Tears that came from a deep place
My teachers sighed
It was a sigh I heard for some time
My day began with a sigh
And a pen I could not hold
I noticed teacher writing in a book
How come she can hold the pen and I cannot?
Then one day as I was eating lunch
Someone led me upstairs to a class
I was confused
But relieved to leave the pen
But wait
This was the class I was in last year
I just hope I can play with toys again
But now there were new toys
Based on the children’s programs I now watched
That could not be afforded.
I was bigger than the other kids
When teacher asked how old are you.
Everyone said 4 and 5 while I said 6.
I miss my old friends
Just as I thought I escaped the pen
Teacher tells me to grip this new pen
I just want to play with the new toys
Leave me alone.
Eventually I held the pen
First with four fingers
Then a trilogy of hand digits
I stopped holding it in anger
And started holding it for a purpose
The first name I said was mama
But the first word I wrote was Michael
Because this page is now mine
A lot of paper would now belong to me
Because once I started writing I never stopped.
I have never, ever laid down my pen,.
Because I learned I cannot just want to be good.
I must be great with the pen
Nudge it with my fist
Why could I not just think
And the words form on the page
But they gave me a pen from on high
And pointed to that paper
They urged me to write, write
This is how you write
This is how good children write
I want to be good
But I just could not write
My marks were on all sides of the paper
But they could not form a word
I could not spell my name on the page
I could say it out loud
Or rather shyly
Out of the corner of my mouth
But I could not write my name
On the corner of the page
I held onto the pen with all my fingers
First with one hand, then with both fists
I put holes inside that paper
What have I done?
Because I figured I had nothing left
I was all emptied out
I just wanted to give up
It was only fair to take my anger out on this paper
Because even though I wanted to respond
The paper was silent
The paper refused to reply
And in its silence it said everything
My hand hurt
My fists refused to close
Tears were on my face
On the paper
Tears of rage
Tears that came from a deep place
My teachers sighed
It was a sigh I heard for some time
My day began with a sigh
And a pen I could not hold
I noticed teacher writing in a book
How come she can hold the pen and I cannot?
Then one day as I was eating lunch
Someone led me upstairs to a class
I was confused
But relieved to leave the pen
But wait
This was the class I was in last year
I just hope I can play with toys again
But now there were new toys
Based on the children’s programs I now watched
That could not be afforded.
I was bigger than the other kids
When teacher asked how old are you.
Everyone said 4 and 5 while I said 6.
I miss my old friends
Just as I thought I escaped the pen
Teacher tells me to grip this new pen
I just want to play with the new toys
Leave me alone.
Eventually I held the pen
First with four fingers
Then a trilogy of hand digits
I stopped holding it in anger
And started holding it for a purpose
The first name I said was mama
But the first word I wrote was Michael
Because this page is now mine
A lot of paper would now belong to me
Because once I started writing I never stopped.
I have never, ever laid down my pen,.
Because I learned I cannot just want to be good.
I must be great with the pen
