Why didn't they teach us how to get rid of that lump in the back of our throat at school.

Why are you teaching them
We hate each other
Why are you teaching them
Their country doesn’t care about their health or education
Why are you teaching them
Their worth is judged by how much they produce

Teach children to feel
Teach children to love
Teach children to forgive
Teach children to learn

Teach children that they can tell
How truly alive they are
By the state of their heart

A piece of white paper
A box of new crayons
An assortment of colors
A palette of shades that are
More than just labels

Chestnut; a horse's coat
A woman's locks
And a roasted treat.

Mahogany; a tropical tree
A dining table
And a name of a bay.

Copper; a lucky penny
A kettle
And Lady Liberty's robe.

Burnt Orange; a sunrise
A sunset
And a sunburn.

Brown; hot cocoa
A chocolate lab
And muddy boots.

Flesh; pale peach skin
Not mine
And maybe not yours.

Every child grows a pair of wings.
Some are just never taught to fly.

the fairer *** she is
she is the cradle of humanity
she gives life and its entity
she gives meaning to beauty
graced and enthroned with integrity
she is but nobly planned to comfort
for the very life she gives she is the epitome
nobly planned to command she is "madam"
being a mother has love to the very quantum
she graces us with innocence
she graces us with her benevolence
she cares about our future with prudence
she calmly appreciates our skills with silence
to human life she is the smith
her integrity to the nation is strength
our first days of life in her  warmth
to our gone men and brothers she is seth
agent of national transformation with home setting
all our livelihood in her making
at the mother's knees education is leading
humans to what is good and a good ending
she  gives me command
she is a hero and a legend

Thomas Edison once said; "Our greatest weakness lies in giving up. The most certain way to succeed is always to try just one more time."

When I was younger, my teacher gave an assessment to everyone in the class
It was a simple assessment
But when we turned them in, he gave each and every paper a big red F
And then proceeded to sit down and watch us react as the papers were passed back
He asked us, ‘What do you think F stands for?’
The loudest response was ‘Failure’
And he shook his head hypnotically and told us
‘F does not mean failure like most think, but instead, it means ‘Find Another Way’

Those simple words changed my perspective on the tiny institution known as school
Classrooms have remained the same for decades
But the subjects change, they advance as we make new discoveries
The material we learn today is different from what adults had to learn years ago
I could use a metaphor or personification
Or describe to you the exact chemical formula of KNO3 and what it stands for
I could tell you how biology is important; meiosis and mitosis
I could tell you the first shot of the American Civil War
Or who Alexander the Great and Napoleon were
Sally sells seashells by the seashore
That was an alliteration

Do not let an exam grade or an insignificant letter define your outlook on life
Find another way to earn your A
An A does not stand for awesome or amazing, it instead stands for acceptable
Twain once said; "It is better to keep your mouth closed and let people think you are a fool than to open it and remove all doubt."
I will not let an exam grade define my future
And you shouldn’t allow it to either
Decide on something that drives you
That motivates and ignites you with passion
Live for being content and happy; instead of successful yet depressed
Because what we take when we leave this world is not our possessions but it is our memories.

an owl
with colors
on this
branch with
frequency and
modulus in
bright heights
and a
wingspan in
flight airing
tidal scoop
with nocturne
where in
spring or
fall now
in awe
of love

His college years were coming to a close
Soon, he became aware of Mrs. Christian
The wife of the headmaster
A German woman with hips luxuriously hanging
Her stomach was slightly loose
But, so were her *******
Yet, she carried them with confidence

He noticed her soon enough
One day, he broke his arm on the field
Mrs. Christian brought to him his meals
Nursed him as she sat on his leg
He could feel his ******* grow
As her *** warmed on the sheets
Yet, such warmth was platonic, still

Sometime later, he stood in the corridor
She asked him to polish his shoes
As he looked down
He caught a glimpse of her cleavage
A pink robe inside, revealing itself
He realized that he had more than a fetish
It was a real fixation
He had become hooked

"You called me, Mrs. Christian."
"Ah. Yes."
"I am aware that the headmaster wished something from me."
"Yes, William."
"Er. You need something."
"Only to inform you, your education is complete."
They turned up the music and waltzed.

Her pink robe, after being removed, was skimpier than he had first thought
Yet, he carefully considered if the tuition included this
He didn't mind her teaching hands too much
As he tried very hard to arouse her purple lips with his hands
Growing impatient, she took her tumescence
And pushed into it, expertly
It was as if the rain had poured for years, unseen by closed eyes

"William. You make me feel."
"Like a woman?"
"No. Just aroused as hell."
"I guess this is ***."
"No. This is art."
"Art is feeling?"
"Touch my heart. You have."

You call me bitter.

Yes, I am bitter.

Why wouldn’t I be?

The taste of your

failure on my tongue

burns from how you

taught us that our

creativity tastes of cough

syrup and fear and

that failure tastes of

our very own blood.


You call me restless.

Yes, I am restless.

How couldn’t I be?

I dance to the

exhaustive rhythm of discovering

that I identify with

test scores and not

by the rhythm that

stirred me from my

forceful and deafening education.