Insanity

Every day, my mother drops me off at this insane asylum with you people who call it school And each day I am forced into a small little desk in a small crowded room Waiting for a cure. Because apparently There is something wrong with the way our mind forms opinions. You Mr. M.D., Ms. Professor of Psychiatry Education convict me of stupidity and idiocy And in class as I sit, with nothing on my blank canvas of a face, you throw on words so tight, in a false care Blacks and blues and reds and different hues of what you think is right, designing me. And I can only sit there, strangled by the white straight jacket of restriction you have forced upon me, but isn’t white supposed to mean hope? How much more can I handle? For now, I will take it. I will sit and listen to each equation, each thing you wish us to memorize, Each pointless line of whatever we’re supposed to be “learning” that day And I throw my head back letting myself die because you twisted your thoughts into my mind Not even wondering about my opinion as yours are the only ones that are true Bringing me to this new low and When I return home with the mounds of work you’ve choked me with I drown myself in it and paper cut blood spews down my arms and my social life is dead. Every day, my mother drops me off at this insane asylum with you people who call it school. Condemned because you say I have dementia, but you are the old one and yet You yell and you cry and you scream at me Why don’t you remember! Why can’t you understand! But how can I understand something you never even taught me? I want to remember, Ms. Spiteful, Ms. Know it All. I want to remember and I look and look through the deep ravines in my brain but I can’t remember a thing and before I know it I am left behind to shrivel up and fail and I know I can’t stand much longer with your thoughts pushing me down, but I must try Every day, my mother drops me off at this insane asylum with you people who call its school. And after six hours of being choked with the medicine my teachers prepared, Mixed with their opinions so contaminated with the sweetness of propaganda I am finally let free. And as I run through the yard, Dodging bullets shooting from the air being let down from those metal trashcans called birds I see the gates and I am free. And You Mr. M.D., Ms. Professor of Psychiatry Education Hold the fence open for me, arms spread, smiling. And as I run through the gates, the sweet smell of freedom is on my mind, uninfluenced by them To live a life without restrictions, to go out with a clean heart, My thoughts will finally matter! And as I run by them, they turn to me, and seize my mind in their gloved hands. Scalpels ready, they cut open my head, and grab out my attitude, assumptions, opinions, and my thoughts And toss them into a cold silver bowl, ready for disposal. And in the pour what they think is right, they’re always right! Thoughts so clouded they blur my own and I can’t see This is this, their trues are true and their falses are true and mine is nothing but shit And that propaganda medicine burns away my opinions and they’ve been destroyed And I can no longer speak for myself. And the following day, my mother drops me off at this insane asylum I now call school.