Time

Time is a tube that
connects you to ever
the past at one end
and the future the other

Time is the moment
this photo was taken
your first year at school
with your class in the yard

The looks are still there
expectations forever
caught by the shutter
that day in the sun,

decades ago now, many
hopes later. Still learning
what life is connected
by time.

Eelco van der Waals

I asked if you recalled
the time in the snow
to mega bed you hauled
your bag and your speedo
Got there, you sprawled
said your back had a blow
Said the mushrooms you did
made your self-worth glow

You claim you're too busy though
can't let me know you care
but something warm fills me whole
not happiness, its unfair
How you once trudged through the snow
just to smell my hair

School is beautiful, school is great
School provides us with an outlet , taps into our talent
School is where we learn new things and make friends
Friendships which some of us will carry well into adulthood

Were it not for school, where would we learn
And how would we know what we are good at
What we are not good at, what we  like, dislike
How would we learn tolerance and understanding

Tolerance and understanding  make us better human beings
Were it not for school, would we learn to read and write
Had they not gone to school, Dickens, Tolkien, and Twain
Would never have written the classics they did

School also teaches us the importance of numbers
Successful and rich people know their numbers
Money likes those who know their numbers
That's why the majority of people remain poor

School teaches us so many different things, so many
Some things help us in life, after school, others never to use
But knowledge is power, and its good to know
That we can stride out into the world with full confidence

Sugar. Honey. Iced. Tea.
They mutter it when they’re too scared to come at me. It’s cute, really.. how they smile and throw shade, and then act shocked when I don’t sit there and fade.

S is for Sugar, like their condescending tone, when they joke in class and won’t leave me alone. “You’re so weird,” they say, with that laugh on loop. So I smile back, and plot how to flip the whole group.

H is for Honey, that sickly sweet lie, “We’re just teasing!” Nah, you’re asking to cry. Keep poking, keep playing, keep running that mouth, but don’t act surprised when I knock you clean out.

I is for Iced, like my knuckles post swing, and the silence that follows when I end the whole thing. I don’t fight often, but I do fight loud. Enough to make the fake girls rethink their crowd.

T is for Tea, verbal or literal, either I sip it, or I serve it criminal. Sometimes it’s words, sharp as a blade, sometimes its fists when the message won’t fade.

Sugar Honey Iced Tea, such a posh way to swear.

Perfect for school halls, for pretending to care.
Because if I said what I really meant?
I’d be sent home, labelled violent or bent.

But don’t be fooled by the silence I keep.
Every insult’s recorded, every smirk runs deep.
I give as good as I get, and sometimes worse.
In this uniform jungle, I don’t just curse.

So yeah, bully me. Try it, see what you earn.
You’ll get banter back, or maybe a burn.
And if all else fails and words fall flat?
Well.. Sugar. Honey. Iced. That.

Arm wrapped around my neck
laughter encased my ears
skipping as you do,
out the school gate.
Her bright smile
did glow like the sun
her warm eyes
were stars dancing gracefully.

As children we did play together
giggling all days long
now together still
we enjoy our short time
the minutes we sneak between revision
are my favourite of all.

7.6.25 (10:42 am / 10:42)
ariane.
all those lunches throughout the school year,
do you remember?
not just the two of us,
but somehow that still.

like the day of the dance-
i let you borrow my floral vintage dress,
and we all tried it on at our lunch table.

when i think of you,
i think of the way you twirled
and how the skirts flew in the air
and oh
how you laughed

at the dance we all posed for photos
looking at the camera
our mouths lip-gossed and pouting.
but my eyes always strayed back to you
and in one polaroid,
i’m smiling.

this is what i’ve been trying to tell you.

** m

They call it a temple of knowledge and thought,
A place where young minds are carefully taught.
But what is the lesson? What is the rule?
That learning doesn’t happen at my school.

The classroom’s a stage, the script is rehearsed,
Yet passion is absent—just boredom dispersed.
The teacher recites, but they barely engage,
Tenure protects them, and they never must change.

I ask, Why do I need to memorize this?
They smirk and respond, Because it’s on the quiz.
Centuries of knowledge forced into my head,
But not a **** skill for the life I will tread.

They pile on homework, assignments unceasing,
Stealing my time; my patience decreasing.
It teaches me nothing but how to endure,
A childhood lost—stolen, for sure

They claim to be guides, but barely take part,
More focused on grading than igniting a spark.
If I miss one step, if I fail one test,
I’m labeled as lazy, as less than the best.

Straight A’s mean success, so I play their game,
But knowledge? Oh, no—that's not why I came.
I memorize, cram, then let it all go,
The second the test ends? ****...

I don’t know.

They call us the future, yet chain us to past,
Force us through molds, though none of us last.
We learn to obey, to raise our hand high,
To follow directions— but to never ask why?

For school isn’t built for learners like me,
It’s made for compliance, for mindless decree.
I’m forced to sit here and play through my role
Because learning simply doesn’t happen at my school.