Nothing I write ever sounds right.
Is it a rite of passage,
Or a right of way?
To be too shy, two friends,
And my mother wonders why I've stopped singing and dancing
Around the kitchen.
This language is confusing;
Too many different ways to say the same thing.
Word choice, precision, and six points off for bad grammar.
"You are here to learn and grow and be better," they say,
But what is wrong with me now?
Hazel eyes aren't supposed to look like blue ones but,
Now we are a world gone colorblind,
Still calling people less
without reason.
"Be yourself and be creative but, here are the rules," they tell us.
"Do your homework, read your textbooks, do what I say to succeed," and that is how we are taught.
I matter because I am a statistic,
A small part of a percentage and,
A broken economy.
Teachers show children how to add and subtract, be their best, work for success,
Isn't that right?
To write
Complete your rites
You're not right,
The writing is right.
Let the system lead you, teach you, think for you.
Let our brains be symmetrical,
And our thoughts be
What they are told to be.
But,
No matter your score on an arithmetic test,
This is incorrect.
