I have traded my youth,
for 'education'.

Joints lecture bursts
of pain to show me
that running from class to class
with heavy backpacks,
I still have not learned my lesson.

Mindless memorizing mimics
magical and mysterious minds,
manipulating math,
a subject destroyed,
by it's very creators.

I take notes on how to
spend late nights
crying over spilled ink,
papers all ruined,
hours of work...
I sigh and start from the top.

Eleven exams, then 7 finals, then FSA's,

No, these numbers are all real.
To the adults who took their turn
in cheer leading outfits of the 1990's
I beg for you to count
with the same system I learned,
how many more hours I need to study,
how many exams I have left to go.


I almost forgot my birthday this year,
because midterm season,
was the only 'surprise!'
I expected.

I ache as I write,
Say I exaggerate all you wish,
But my poems are begging to be structured like essays,
as this stanza turns into a counterpoint.

My freedom of thought
I eat at lunch,
seated between friends,
eating their childhoods all the same.


To conclude:
School *****,
I am grateful it builds character(s),
but how many more
mindless
slaves
does this world still need?


Count with them with the same system I learned...
Your coworkers,
your wife,
your husband,
the mirror.

How many more,
tell me,



how many more?