take a poor, fat, spiced chocolate kid from its welfare house put it in a program with rich kids, tell it it can be just like that, if it learns critical thinking, logical reasoning, communication, and problem solving. can it?
[falls asleep in a dumpster]
no one accounted for the rest of the hillbilly family. school officials build a false sense of equitable hope, and wear their badges with a flair of pride. guess what i learned at school today! not now, hon, we're watching dr. phil. then, it's my 600lb life. then judge judy. then house hunters. then the price is right. then
i know well the fear as it manifests in the dampness come night dollar bills burn hot in pocket the reddened skin of my inner thighs fights to fray the cloth, but i i'm better off sleeping in my pants and my shoes, as to evade then this thing clicks and the misfit cuts come to fall into plan by design, without fail, buy and sell then there's me, this thing replete with confidence in its destruction by its hand, or on demand, its a matter of course lightbulb!
We must become far more than what the system wants us to be. We are surpassing standards our peers have failed to reach. We are achieving goals and making it to places our ancestors once dreamed. We are living the wildest dreams of those before us. We are going to places not even some of our parents have been to or seen. Who are you becoming?
XLVII. FROM THE SLUMS - With the weight of responsibility of trying to secure a future for one's family, with the pressures of progressing and "making it" in life, there are those who are fighting and pushing forward! While people sit back, comfortably, living crowded and messy lives, and living from check to check, there's a people focused on marching ahead... In no way am I replacing faith with "success" but there's a difference in doing what you can and trusting the process from remaining comfortable in circumstances that weren't meant to be permanent in the first place!
I was brought up in Western Leeds, Almost two miles from the nearest cow or sheep. In sprawling suburbs: Row after row of smoke stained redbrick slums. We had our fields: Jungles of Rose Bay Willow Herb (Fireweed to the Americans) On former demolition sites. Our childhood spears were honed From fireweed spears.
Our house was in a terrace On “School Street”, Where we took baths in the sink And crept to outside toilets In the dark of the “back yard”.
Those days were punctuated By the “Yie Yie” blare From the local factory siren. A deafening sound. And by endless hammering From the scrapyard nearby.
But we loved our dripping and bread, And our walks to the sweet shop. Playing hopscotch on those stone “flags” Along the sides of the cobbled street Under old Victorian gas lamps Straight from Narnia.
I recall crying on our return from the coast At a dismal scene Of soot shrouded trains On tortured railway lines.
But I also feel nostalgia For those heady days Of childhood innocence. Wearing a cardboard box as a space suit, And running around During a “New Year’s Revolution”. Happy Days.