Devastated
Sad as I am, I still have to continue,
The long trudge has imprinted its indelible horror,
In the heart of my mind, my soul, my emotions.
When will I struggle to be free?
When will I break free from this horrendous suffocating grasp?
Am I that bad? Or am I merely creating a shawl over my own potential?
The results, the figures. Are they good measures of my calibre? My potential?
What are they to me? What do they mean? I know not.
Why? I asked. Because this is so. They answered.
The rigidity, the inflexibility is driving me mad.
But nothing, absolutely nothing can be done. Not in this place, this time.
The incredulously packed schedules, the exams, the tests, the quizzes, the assignments.
All packed, all graded, all driving me to the wall. The wall of death.
Pushing my limits, attempting to drown my helpless cries, trying to engulf me,
Savouring every minute of my sleeping time.
What is the use? I have asked. It’s your future. Take it, or leave it. The answer.
The harshness and the reality of the uncompassionate world out there.
Development of my creativity, my language arts, all hindered, all restricted, all compromised.
Is it all worth it? What do I have in return?
Figures. Oh, figures. Digits and numbers that appear to be less than half.
Figures that laugh silently at you, make funny faces at you, tease you,
Poke fun at you, criticize you, mock at you.
Despite all the hardwork, the diligence, this is what you will get.
Who will know what is really hurting? Taking all childlike, innocent happiness?
Stealing all the helpfulness, care and love; replacing them with anger, hatred and confusion?
Motivation and drive to push harder, to work and do well are buried in the mud of disgust,
Hatred, rage and insulting figures.
Dreading each morning with futile hope that all will turn out well.
Hands that are cuffed tightly behind the back to tireless labour of hated lessons,
Will soon be moved to a straightjacket, psychologically deranged; and physically immobile….