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Mike Essig Jun 2015
I no longer
wanted to be
part of a system
whose sole intent
was to produce
reliable employees
when I didn't want
to be one myself.

  ~mce
It's nice or necessary to have a job, but that has little to do with education.
Cori MacNaughton Jun 2015
Language
is one of my favorite things
for which I displayed
an early facility
I toyed with foreign languages
but went no further
it wasn’t where I wanted
to spend my time

I wanted to save the whales
improve education
fight poverty
protect our environment
a whole host of causes
I visited in a repeating cycle
whirling faster and faster until

I created my own vortex
and then found myself
at the far end of a wormhole
with no idea how I got there
much less how to return
and found myself observing
every time I behaved badly
in excruciating detail

A tactless comment
a thoughtless act
each small transgression
building stone by stone
until I created a fortress
walling myself within
this invisible shield

When we touch
is it you or me
who feels remotely?

All dissolves into Oneness.

17 July 2005
I wrote this poem shortly before my divorce became final.
I have read it in public but this is the first time it appears in print.
Vivian Jun 2015
I go to school
I sit in class
I love to write
But I hate math

Behind my desk
I try to add
I draw the shapes
I make the graph

Learn formulas
I get confused
It's much too hard
Too many rules

Daddy can teach
He goes to schools
He shows them math
He knows the rules

I leave the bus
Dad gets the door
"How was your day?"
"I learned some more!"

Dad says, "Good Job,"
And turns to leave
I yell out, "Wait!
Can you help me?"

Dad hesitates
He sits me down
I bring out math
He starts to frown

"How is this hard?
Here's what you do!"
I smile as he
Explains the rules.

"I get it now!
Let's do this one!"
"I have to go
But you have fun."

My daddy leaves
I wear his frown
I try the math
It's harder now

"Daddy come back!"
I start to yelp
"I'm sure at school
That they can help."

I go to school
I sit in class
I love to write
But I hate math

Behind my desk
I just can't see
Can Mrs. teach?
She's not Daddy

I raise my hand
I wait a while
"Can you help me?"
Mrs. just smiles

"It's not all wrong.
Here's what you did.
Let's try it slow
And get it fixed."

That's not so hard
That's kind of cool
I laugh as she
Explains the rules

"Mrs. please stay
For just one more."
"I'm glad to help!
It's not a chore."

Before class ends
We take a test
I'm scared but I
Wish for the best

I turn it in
I start to leave
"I'm proud of you!"
Mrs. tells me

I check my grade
Right by the door
An "A" in math?
What in the world?

I leave the bus
Dad gets the door
"How was your day?"
"I learned some more!"

Dad says, "Good Job,"
But doesn't stay
I yell out, "Wait!
I got an A!"

Dad smiles. "In math?
I'm proud of you!
Maybe one day
You'll teach math too!"

I'm really glad
I learned the rules
But math should still
Be banned from schools

Thank you Mrs.
For teaching me
Since my Daddy
Had to go.
Jane Lame Jun 2015
I learned this in undergrad; That I'm a "yes person" defined. In self-defeatist monotony, I think I burned out my mind.

Hypocrisy personified, notebooks filled with lies. Prerequisites were full of ****. Required, to them, didn't apply.

Monopolistic macroeconomies, business school taught me to hide. A complete lack of self-reliance, an endless search for a diagnosis.

Cross-tabulate, over-analyze. I swore to them, "I'm fine." But, what's an existential crisis? I'm just asking for a friend.

Procrastinate to copulate, never finishing on time. My inability to articulate, dying to feel alive again inside.

Hesitation turned desperation, finally deciding to speak my mind. It only took me five years to admit that I was just too starved to shine.
anonymous999 Jun 2015
dear mother,
my mental health is not a spectator sport.

you do not get to tell me "you need to go to school to learn to be a decent person" when i am too depressed to get out of bed and then brag about my ACT score.
it is not your score. it is mine.

dear mother,
you do not get to tell me that you are sending me to a psychologist to "learn how to treat other people" and then ask me if i am okay. i am not okay.

dear mother,
you do not get to watch me hyperventilate under a bed on a school morning and get angry and then brag to your friends about my GPA. it is not your GPA. it is mine.

dear mother,
you do not get to scream at me for "upsetting your household" and order me to take easier classes and then brag to your friends that your daughter took 5 AP classes. yes, that is hard, but you made it harder.

dear mother,
you do not get to scold me when, yes, i stayed up all night but didn't finish my work but then brag to your friends about my success. it is not your success. it is mine.

dear mother,
you do not get to push me down and then comment on how wonderfully i got back up.

you do not get to cheer me in success and boo me in defeat. i am not a sports team, i am your daughter

dear mother,
you are not my mother. you are my fair-weather fan, and yes i am doing well now but i do not have time for autographs.

dear mother,
goodbye.
Nicholas Fogle Jun 2015
Little boy was so smart.
Had the highest grade.
Best day,
was when he pretend to be sleep when he was made,
Valedictorian.
No one knew how upset he was, to stand out above.
To be better, best, and yet, who really cared.
He saw and knew the work was easy, only reason others fail,
was because they never tried.
Old soul he was told by many so far in age above him.
It was as if hubris hugged him.
Why put full effort when only half was good enough.
We were just slaves in a system testing who was just enough.
It never matter he knew, not at all.
He was just waiting to see his classmates fall.
They believe they were working to live life,
in reality they were working to be life.
To be another part of a bigger machine,
rather live life for there own esteem,
and I was smart, but I was the same.
Little boy Genius .
Smarts
I feel lost at times,
Like I'm losing my mind
Everybody else letting loose,
**** dropping, pill popping
'*****' on pelvis grinds
Joint sharing, sniffing ******* lines
Unemployed but still no one has time
Everyone is commited,
But nobody knows why.

I feel lost because
The education system taught us
Mathematics, English
And a bunch of other stuff
But not how to apply for a job
Behave in an interview or
Maintain and mindset
That actually gives a ****
How our voting system works,
Whether we elect our leaders
Or if the system is really corrupt
So was it enough?
We weren't taught about hourly wages or salaries. How to get a mortgage, apply for a bank account. How to recover from loss and stay straight when we gain. Ask your teachers: how is your credit rating and who did you vote for?
SøułSurvivør Jun 2015
... and WHY.


I write extemporaneously.

Now there's a million dollar word!

What does it mean?
It is defined as working, writing
or speaking without preparation.
Anything that is off the top of your
head. Off the cuff.

Is there anything a writer would like more? To be able to sit down and let those words flow like a spring. The subconscious fully aligned with the conscious mind. This is the very essence of inspiration!

What is the derivation of the word inspiration? To inhale. To breathe in.*

It is like your lungs are your conscious mind and the subconsciousness is the very atmosphere around you!

When I write the words are inhaled. They just come. Very seldom do i cogitate. I want my words to be cogant here. I don't want preconcieved cognition!

Are you totally confused now? Why?

Your vocabulary. There are words you don't understand in my last paragraph. Perhaps the words cogitate, cogant and cognition?

LOOK THEM UP!
Use a good dictionary and get the definition. The CORRECT definition. Read ALL the definitions and use them in sentances of your own making. That way they are in your head. They are not only part of your conscious mind but your subconscious mind as well!!! SO NOW THEY ARE IN YOUR ATMOSPHERE TO BREATHE!

Am I making sense? Let me know via the site message system if you don't understand.

Look it up. R E A D. Voraciously.
And write. WRITE. W R I T E!!!

Why do I write?

To release pent up feelings. When you're able to tap into the subconscious mind it is a release.

AND

For the sheer joy of doing so!

You will understand once you start writing as I do. Anyone can do it.

*A N Y O N E.
Other advice I can give is to write gobbledygook. Ummhummdumm.
Whatever comes to mind first. This releases your subconscios mind and helps the flow of words.

If this writing has been helpful please contact me via the site message system. Or comment.
I can write about it at greater length.

THANKS FOR READING!

---
J M Surgent May 2015
She said there was zero squared chance of reconciliation
That our lives were not the circle she dreamed,
But two separate lines diverging at a point
Arranged in rays, and some other math terms I never understood
Because she finished top of her class, myself a comforting third
Tier, of the last tier, of those who made it through the door.
And the story has stayed the same, regardless of the term change
I was back in school, receiving a bad grade,
Thanking God for the bell curve, which rang
"Some things always stay the same, but keep trying anyway"
And my averages will remain somewhere between middle of the line
And the bottom of the drain.

So
I will raise my hand for hope,
I will raise my hand for shame,
I will raise my hand to look good,
And to never learn
Quite exactly what I should.
Mandee Patterson May 2015
People of modern society are blind.

They've lost sight of what it means to recognize and accept basic human emotions.
They're frightened by feeling.

At the first sign of angst, depression, anxiety, discomfort, or anger they're convinced it can't be natural.
It must be some disease or disorder that is causing such pain.
No other answer, diagnose and treat at once.

Children, teenagers, young adults, the middle aged, and the elderly
all desperately seeking some sort of instantaneous solution
for themselves and their loved ones.

Those that they should hold dear pawned off on medications
from those commercials with smiling faces
that they wish to be their own.

While in the end the only smiling faces are those with full pockets.

We as humans must confront the fact that sometimes there is not a light at the end of the tunnel
and adapt, as our species so often has, to our individual and collective darkness.

For without that darkness we would never recognize the light.

Because once was a time when we sought to not mask our pain but to understand it.
( see: Neitzche, Kierkegaard, Sartre, Camus, etc.)

When experience and education actually provided freedom and enlightenment,
where the youth were given tools to understand themselves, their society, and their emotions,
to find themselves, to learn, and were encouraged to ask the important questions, to question at all.

To question it all.

Who am I?
What are we?
When did we get here?
Where did we come from?
Why are we here?

Open your eyes.
June 26, 2014
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