#standardized - Hello Poetry

School was a pleasing dream a world of wonder in which I yearned to get through the door to the desk to my graphite, with its #2 That scent of worn paper and paste upon the wood my place of reprieve full of my passions like a kid in a toy shop a poor boy in a rich man's world that was when school was a neverending treasure trove with golden coin upon coin but then was suddenly halted by a hard brick wall the word testing carved against the stones 3rd grade hit and then my mind began to bite their words turning them to solid stone as time passed on my thoughts degraded till all was gray and uniform like a blonde child in a **** school mind wiped and reprogrammed forced to stay in line scolded to sit still throwing culture out the window till only the standardized colors of a flag remained Now I’m just a bibliophile sitting atop a pile with books and texts throughout the ages heaped under my feet but I can not make out their stories For their pages are blackened and their words blurred like a rushing river of soiled ink caused by cluttered shelves in the library of my mind that has been burned by torches held by men and women in suits and ties holding badges of authority like my mind is a criminal being investigated by the FBI They tell me I should know that it’s easy 1, 2, 3 go but I can’t they locked my door once they began to teach their TEKS my colors hid and got locked beneath and now my mindsets stuck with no hope for release What was a rainbow with it’s *** of golden words Now resides a rusting locker with chipping paint and faded words The creative concepts once in my head have been broken by just five letters that changed my words to dull markings and erased the color from my thoughts like the page in a coloring book quickly erased so the sky would be blue instead of magenta because the sky can never be anything else but blue Five letters that I thought defined who I was that I was always worried to fail A big red F peeking over my shoulder Five letters that could destroy thinking that they controlled my fate three old ladies threatening with their scissors and thread to cut a cord made of multiple choice answers Five letters that could mean success or doom like a hazy brained plan to stop a war that could only continue to grow worse as each soldier fell while running through the minefield of society But those five letters are just a tool To add an extra grade and a little more rules Stamping labels upon our IQ Taking away our peace and serenity Angling our goals away from our own Adding stress upon tentative minds Redirecting our thoughts from right to left so suddenly trees are plastic and the alphabet only has letters A-H and all we know are large cement buildings instead of fields of flowers My whole world in a pint sized room with flowing waterfalls that burst from my imagination obscured by bland walls and heavy doors Colorful assemblies with shushing giants making up a chorus irony written on every poster of every wall learn and you’ll pass go to sleep and you’ll pass eat healthy and you’ll pass no need for imagination no need for outside experience just sit in that chair and take that quiz that test that exam that benchmark We’ll have fun later in the year, but that better not be your essay topic and that story better not be fiction And all the while I scream I want color I want the sky to be magenta I want to use every word and phrase available to me I want to soar as crane flying across a lake I want to run like a track star to the the finish Throw down the pencils the printed paper throw away the charts and empty messages on the walls I want to run down the halls and dance instead of sit I want to sing instead of speak I want to learn instead of being taught But all I can do is sit All I can do is write All I can do is conform So I won’t be thrown in the trash like a piece of worthless junk that still has a purpose So i won’t be stuck in the same room for more than eighteen years like a prison sentence for not knowing the laws of this country So i won’t be left behind like the homeless in the streets School was a joy Education was a treasure But now is defiled by one small packet of paper

0

Apr 7, 2018

Apr 7, 2018 at 1:06 PM UTC

minimartha

Five Letters to one Acronym

School was a pleasing dream a world of wonder in which I yearned to get through the door to the desk to my graphite, with its #2 That scent of worn paper and paste upon the wood my place of reprieve full of my passions like a kid in a toy shop a poor boy in a rich man's world that was when school was a neverending treasure trove with golden coin upon coin but then was suddenly halted by a hard brick wall the word testing carved against the stones 3rd grade hit and then my mind began to bite their words turning them to solid stone as time passed on my thoughts degraded till all was gray and uniform like a blonde child in a **** school mind wiped and reprogrammed forced to stay in line scolded to sit still throwing culture out the window till only the standardized colors of a flag remained Now I’m just a bibliophile sitting atop a pile with books and texts throughout the ages heaped under my feet but I can not make out their stories For their pages are blackened and their words blurred like a rushing river of soiled ink caused by cluttered shelves in the library of my mind that has been burned by torches held by men and women in suits and ties holding badges of authority like my mind is a criminal being investigated by the FBI They tell me I should know that it’s easy 1, 2, 3 go but I can’t they locked my door once they began to teach their TEKS my colors hid and got locked beneath and now my mindsets stuck with no hope for release What was a rainbow with it’s *** of golden words Now resides a rusting locker with chipping paint and faded words The creative concepts once in my head have been broken by just five letters that changed my words to dull markings and erased the color from my thoughts like the page in a coloring book quickly erased so the sky would be blue instead of magenta because the sky can never be anything else but blue Five letters that I thought defined who I was that I was always worried to fail A big red F peeking over my shoulder Five letters that could destroy thinking that they controlled my fate three old ladies threatening with their scissors and thread to cut a cord made of multiple choice answers Five letters that could mean success or doom like a hazy brained plan to stop a war that could only continue to grow worse as each soldier fell while running through the minefield of society But those five letters are just a tool To add an extra grade and a little more rules Stamping labels upon our IQ Taking away our peace and serenity Angling our goals away from our own Adding stress upon tentative minds Redirecting our thoughts from right to left so suddenly trees are plastic and the alphabet only has letters A-H and all we know are large cement buildings instead of fields of flowers My whole world in a pint sized room with flowing waterfalls that burst from my imagination obscured by bland walls and heavy doors Colorful assemblies with shushing giants making up a chorus irony written on every poster of every wall learn and you’ll pass go to sleep and you’ll pass eat healthy and you’ll pass no need for imagination no need for outside experience just sit in that chair and take that quiz that test that exam that benchmark We’ll have fun later in the year, but that better not be your essay topic and that story better not be fiction And all the while I scream I want color I want the sky to be magenta I want to use every word and phrase available to me I want to soar as crane flying across a lake I want to run like a track star to the the finish Throw down the pencils the printed paper throw away the charts and empty messages on the walls I want to run down the halls and dance instead of sit I want to sing instead of speak I want to learn instead of being taught But all I can do is sit All I can do is write All I can do is conform So I won’t be thrown in the trash like a piece of worthless junk that still has a purpose So i won’t be stuck in the same room for more than eighteen years like a prison sentence for not knowing the laws of this country So i won’t be left behind like the homeless in the streets School was a joy Education was a treasure But now is defiled by one small packet of paper

137

As I was climbing the steps, Today after school… I felt a pang of claustrophobia, Despite being outdoors… As I watched the herd of students in uniform, Both in clothing and in conversation… I felt scared. Because I was a part of that herd. One which mindlessly spent its days, Spent, In accordance to the routines of the society, Their personalities among other things. All those kids, In preparation for standardized tests, Had become standardized as well… They were forced to fit a mold, For so long, that they didn’t have to be forced anymore, And it had all happened so quickly, just like the way mold covers food, And it had come to seem so permanent, just like patina covering brass, Hiding the quirks and the character of the statue for all eyes to see, through corrupting it. They had turned fit to false ideals. The stair was full of black coats, As if to make the uniforms even more uniform. And even the rare spring-like winter day, Hadn’t made me want to break the routine that day, To run away into a field (If I could find a field in the concrete jungle, The one that I hadn’t yearned to desert just yet, Though I should’ve made any place my field, anyways.) And to dance & lie among wild flowers, Each one unique and not uniform at all. Even the trees around the stairs looked one and the same, But how could the system curb even, The one thing supposed to be unrestrainable, The uncurbably roaring nature, To bend it in its will against diversity. Just like it had done to us… But then I saw kids playing in the soccer field, Not a field of flowers, but a field nevertheless They did seem to be thinking differently, Their laughs didn’t resemble each other’s So it was growing up which had made us like that, A premature maturity, Which would be premature even at the age of eighty, (If it could even be considered maturity) Which had stripped away our individuality, And had made us a homogeneous flood, sweeping away all identity And I still am a captive of the desperation that had taken a hold of me in that brief glance, I still don’t know what to do, Humanity, help me, Aid me in melting these cages, Through the heat of the stars presents in your minds as well as your hearts, To recover individuality. For I refuse to give up, And to loose myself in the flood

0

Feb 19, 2018

Feb 19, 2018 at 9:42 AM UTC

Poetofinsomniacnights

Losing myself in the flood

As I was climbing the steps, Today after school… I felt a pang of claustrophobia, Despite being outdoors… As I watched the herd of students in uniform, Both in clothing and in conversation… I felt scared. Because I was a part of that herd. One which mindlessly spent its days, Spent, In accordance to the routines of the society, Their personalities among other things. All those kids, In preparation for standardized tests, Had become standardized as well… They were forced to fit a mold, For so long, that they didn’t have to be forced anymore, And it had all happened so quickly, just like the way mold covers food, And it had come to seem so permanent, just like patina covering brass, Hiding the quirks and the character of the statue for all eyes to see, through corrupting it. They had turned fit to false ideals. The stair was full of black coats, As if to make the uniforms even more uniform. And even the rare spring-like winter day, Hadn’t made me want to break the routine that day, To run away into a field (If I could find a field in the concrete jungle, The one that I hadn’t yearned to desert just yet, Though I should’ve made any place my field, anyways.) And to dance & lie among wild flowers, Each one unique and not uniform at all. Even the trees around the stairs looked one and the same, But how could the system curb even, The one thing supposed to be unrestrainable, The uncurbably roaring nature, To bend it in its will against diversity. Just like it had done to us… But then I saw kids playing in the soccer field, Not a field of flowers, but a field nevertheless They did seem to be thinking differently, Their laughs didn’t resemble each other’s So it was growing up which had made us like that, A premature maturity, Which would be premature even at the age of eighty, (If it could even be considered maturity) Which had stripped away our individuality, And had made us a homogeneous flood, sweeping away all identity And I still am a captive of the desperation that had taken a hold of me in that brief glance, I still don’t know what to do, Humanity, help me, Aid me in melting these cages, Through the heat of the stars presents in your minds as well as your hearts, To recover individuality. For I refuse to give up, And to loose myself in the flood

55

When we were little They used to call them Spotted Orange Lizards. I think they were trying not to scare us with The words Standards Of Learning. Standardized testing. Those things that you need Number Two pencils for. Those things that they prepare you for Every year For months. Those things that if a cell phone goes off The entire class comes back During the summer And retakes it. Those things that they give you hours and hours To take, Out of our normal schedule, Even though they only take Forty-five minutes Those things that don't even count Towards our grades Because "They're really assessing the teachers-- But it's important to do your best." SOLs. Those things that people stress over. Even though your answers Are only Tiny gray dots On a Scantron sheet.

0

May 13, 2013

May 13, 2013 at 10:54 AM UTC

emily-tyler

SOLs

When we were little They used to call them Spotted Orange Lizards. I think they were trying not to scare us with The words Standards Of Learning. Standardized testing. Those things that you need Number Two pencils for. Those things that they prepare you for Every year For months. Those things that if a cell phone goes off The entire class comes back During the summer And retakes it. Those things that they give you hours and hours To take, Out of our normal schedule, Even though they only take Forty-five minutes Those things that don't even count Towards our grades Because "They're really assessing the teachers-- But it's important to do your best." SOLs. Those things that people stress over. Even though your answers Are only Tiny gray dots On a Scantron sheet.

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