There once was a group who were called the Nines,
All short and dressed, presented very fine
In their pristine new uniforms that shone
In the light of their eyes that would be gone.
They were the very youngest of the bunch,
And sat around one another at lunch.
Loud and boisterous they all laughed and yelled
Jumping and running until they quelled
In fear of the fury loosed by the Twelve’s.
Curious and sassy they would evolve
And cockily talk back to the rulers
Of the houses who did not like humor.
Hyped up on sugar they often complained
‘Bout not being tired when bedtime came.
Staying up late on their small glowing screens,
They thought their antics went about unseen.
Excited to be far away from home,
They all hoped freedom would allow to roam
Around the campus whenever they liked.
Little did they know only in the night
They were all tucked away inside their dorms
Expected to complete their list of chores.
There once was a group who were called the Nines,
Who would all rule a future they defined.

Early morning awakenings followed by days as seen through the haze of sleep deprivation are the story of my life. Late nights chugging caffeinated drinks keep me on the brink of insanity. Long afternoons in the library bent over a book filled educational words that all swim together in a river of knowledge to wash away my brain. Each day is the same filled with paper after math calculation due day in and day out because adults don’t seem to understand the stress we are under. Teacher’s voices begin to sound the same hour after hour of classes and all the subjects blur into one mass of nightmares.

This is the life of a high school student.

From grade 9 to grade 12 we are trapped within the strict walls of assignments tests and exams. Our lives evolve around this institution, defined by the marks we receive and we begin to believe that there is nothing more important than balancing chemistry equations rather than social obligations, or mathematic foundations as if the building blocks of society.  But they give no preparation for the real world.

When we reach a certain age, long before the time of university stress, they tell us that we can be anything, so I picked sparkly fairy princess. Apparently that defies the laws of physics and they said try again I loved the power of the pen and I said author. Then they laughed in my face and said I’d never win the economical race so I settled on lawyer, an profession where I would become a the predator.

The days are structured and muscle memory carries me from class to class, until I resemble a soldier in an army of zombified ants that is under the influence of the queen of education. There is no room to be different, yet we are told to think outside the box but too far outside the box is stupidity, according to the system that doesn’t even think critically anyway. So what is the point?

The pupils that constrict under the bright light of pressure are told that the grades they receive will make or break their future. And that ache of disappointment in the back of the mind says that their only option is the McDonalds up the road.

Parents, teachers, administrators all push and pull me into the “right” direction of life as if they know my true interests because they think they have taught me everything. But they can’t do anything when I finally speak my mind. So, I will apply newton’s third law and react to all those balanced equation and mathematical calculations by becoming a sparkly fairy princess. Then I will give education the finger and only linger to say “***** you school.”

I can’t remember a time before the cruel words that were exchanged for me, there was never a moment of silence, of protection from the wounds that those words caused. the lacerations that tore through my soul, leaving marks that never stopped bleeding, that will take years to finish healing. I try to remember the good memories, the moments of  fun when I didn’t want to run for my life I was a scared little girl trapped in a world of pain and sadness. the energy that it would take for me not to cry would drain me. you hurt me, and him for years I shed too many tears because of your words over time you got worse, and it hurt that no one saw the monster that raged inside because it would hide when others were around. it hurts that he doesn’t remember, that I’m the only one that seemed to see. for years she didn’t want to believe me she wanted to live in blissful ignorance and let it be. I often wonder if those memories were dreams fictional scenes concocted by a scared child’s mind twisted into reality was I crazy? you don’t remember the words that you screamed you don’t want to hear them out of fear that you could be like your father. you hide from your actions and don’t take responsibility you shield yourself in a cocoon of false prescriptions attempting to right your wrongs by using doctors descriptions of illnesses that you don’t have, you say that you lost everything you guilt us three with more words words that are riddled with lies because you want to deceive our minds of the crimes you have committed. you say that don’t have enough time so you try to buy it with your stupid games the games that you play when you want us to stay because you are lonely we are not your toys to play with when you get bored.
you want to fix what you have done, not because you are sorry but because you got caught. you don’t want to pay for your actions you don’t want to feel our pain. but what is there to gain from the desolation of your fiery words.  there is nothing left for you to take so why do you keep coming back for more? you won the battle so put down your smoking gun.
despite the fact that you have hurt me, you have taught me a lesson that I will never forget, and this lesson I pass onto others for protection against the demons that lie in wait hoping that someone will take the bait.


Sticks and stones will break my bones, and words will do the same.

The girl in the feathered dress stood still
Staring at the empty rows of  seats
The ghosts of hollow strangers who had paid to watch
Lurked in the dimly lit house

There is a flurry of forgotten entertainment

The girl in the feathered dress stood tall
Ready to sing the ancient lullabies of yesterday
No one will hear them tomorrow
In the noisy silence of now

The interest was carried out the door
Following the flurry of forgotten entertainment

The girl in the feathered dress sat down
Lost in mourning for memories of life
Where speaking was accepted
Before it was betrayed by the phosphorescent glow

The present goes unnoticed while the interest is carried out the door following the flurry of forgotten entertainment

The girl in the feathered dress laid her head down
Weeping for the losses that only she could see
Everyone else was to busy
To take notice

Observation is lost as the present goes unnoticed while the interest is carried out the door following the flurry of forgotten entertainment

Cookie cutter houses lined with white picket fences
Perfect house wives in pretty coloured dresses
Polite little children play in green gardens
Breadwinner husbands provide for their own

A facade of happy families in an urban village
Painting a perfected picture of contented population
Because society frowns upon unhappiness

Sad little child sits all alone
Eating out of a brown crinkled paper bag
No one notices the tears that streak his face
From the names shouted his way

Lonely teenage girl stand in front of a mirror
Skin tight around her bones
She doesn't see the beauty she holds
Only an ugly creature who needs to fit into the smallest jeans

Close to midnight on a deserted bridge in town
A man stands tall
Thinking about the deadly fall
He wants so desperately to take

We all hop about heads high hiding behind the fake smiles
Because it's easier to say "I'm Fine"
Than to admit the truth
That not everything is happy