We carry it as daily cash
But sooner or later end up throwing it in the trash

We imprint knowledge in its soul
Information we rapidly loose
With every tick of the clock
Refusing to stay in our long term memory
Deciding to fly away
And becoming our worse enemy

How do we expect to succeed in life?
If we set our goals based on extrinsic motivations?

We set our minds
On getting a passing grade in the class
An “A” it’s just a letter
A 4.00 just a quantitative number

A college degree a white sheet of paper
With someone’s wiggly lines
Written to represent a name

The true meaning of
Attending school, College, a University
Is for the passion of knowledge

Wise individuals
Study for the pleasure of being intellectual
Casting ignorance away

Why is it that we don’t care about learning?
And make fools of ourselves with excuses and laziness

What is the purpose of going to school?
If by the end of 14 years
You look back and realize
You only went to keep a chair warm

You were nothing
But a furniture in an empty classroom
That retained overnight what it learned
And forgot it by the next sunset
An A on paper
But F on permanently encoded
And easily retrieved knowledge

How pathetic
Isn’t it?

is to be fluent in the art of insulting

there are only so many words
to be hand-picked from the ground,
spun around like ***** laundry
in melted glass shapes designed to mean
something to someone

we can write about
the way the tired clown collapses on his bed
after a night spent sweltering in forced laughter,
the way the sunflowers your grandmother planted years ago
continue to bloom outstretched to the sky
countless years after the last time you heard her voice

we can write about
the flutter of first love,
red cheeks and somersaulting stomachs,
the way it burns like a chemical spill on newborn skin
the moment it is stolen away from us

we can write
we can write
we can write

yet we will never fully capture
how the clown sobs tears of loneliness
after a lifetime of painting smiles on painted faces
or the way it still aches to stare out the window in the summer
because the cheerful faces of the flowers remind you of hers

we will never fully understand
how blissful it is to experience the beginnings of love,
how the entire universe ceases to exist anywhere
but in the unfamiliar palms of the one you have fallen hard for;
we will never fully understand
how the cries of the earth can also exist
in the deafening silence
after the one who poured his soul out for you to cradle
decides he wants it back for himself

we will never understand
we will never understand
we will never understand

but perhaps,
when we choose the words,
we choose to try.