Dearest School,

I was not born

With volcanoes in my veins

And wildfires in my heart,

Just to be smothered away

With your system of destruction.

Mother,

You used to always tell me,

"Your tormentors are like hurricanes,

No matter how horrible they are,

The storm will always pass."

But, Mom,

What do you do when the pain and suffering lasts for years?

What do you do

When the chaos consumes so many of the people you love?

School, 

You have drowned too many beautifully crafted souls.

I have seen too many of us with violets blooming in the gardens beneath our eyes.

I have seen too many

Tornadoes of depression

Whirling about behind our eyelids.

     Dearest School,

How can you claim to educate us,

When there are pages missing from our history books?

Why do you not teach us skills in life?

Like, perhaps, how to cash a check?

Or what the laws in our state are?

Or maybe our own human rights? Apparently there's thirty.

Did you know that?

I didn't.

School, do you realize

That you

Are our primary reason of suicide?

How many of us have to scream out

Before you realize your system is flawed?

Can't you see?

We are nothing close to lazy.

We're not just whiny wastes of space.

We are warriors fighting for our life.

Let this poem be our battle cry,

Let this poem be our

Final.

Call.

For help.

Stop murdering our c r e a t i v i t y.