Language Arts

We don't ask for change.  

And that's fact, not fiction.  

Not prepared for when they staled, strangled, and suffocated

"Language Arts"

Then stripped away "Arts,"

So we might focus on the "Language."

A change unto high school—

But we don’t ask for change.

"English" is a simple difference in diction

That means a whole lot,

Yet it has been missed

More often than not.

Snaps to this act;

Such rich writing, in fact.

English has passed its own class.

An expectation like a 12-point font

No Time Newer than Roman

And for semesters on end,  

Being subject to repetition.

Alliteration.

Starting so many school years  

With a similar-sounding syllabus,

Not syllables.

Hoping for homonyms

Yet we've known no existence

Of one year that has been spelled out different.

Have you deciphered my tone yet?

Semesters remain a matching set.

This continuous introduction of no new directive

And no conclusion of  

Imposing perspectives;

So selective of the reading and writing,

Then selectively hearing nobody's voice.

Who writes the rules? Who makes the choice?

We all have our quarrels with classes

And masses of messes;

Our helpings of helpless complaints are  

Dancing with desire

To be so much more than just a distraction.

Why don't our words—

Our complaints,

Speak loud enough to be action?

Ironic, right?  

When we don't put up a fight;

The antagonist to ourselves

And that's fact, not fiction.

We are handed on a silver platter

Ethos, pathos, and logos,

Like Legos;

Building blocks to make a difference.

I can make an inference:

Things could be different.

If only you knew  

How to write a sentence

Asking for change.

And that's fact, not fiction.

This poem is about: 
Our world

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741