They Tell You to Shh

They tell you to Shushhh I walk into this elementary school and they see white rich college girl. 3 out of the 4 are true. I walk into this building and see I don't represent you. You come from a place that speaks Spanish. I speak Spanish with a French accent, mierda. And your family was kicked out of the place I call home, that comforting happy place you aren't welcome. But you welcome me here. Say you wish I was your mom. Hug me so tight, won't let me go. Attached to the idea of me. You make me worried your momma doesn't say I love you. But I can't be her. So I teach you to eat things they don't serve you. The only vegetables you see are the ones we grow, while you eat plastic pouched meals that you wait for in a line with them telling you to shushhh. They tell you to shushhh and feed you the food that makes you wild. That sugar that clogs up your veins and explodes out your wiggly legs. And they tell you to sit still, when I can't even sit still. Tell your momma you have trouble concentrating and send you to a doctor. Diagnosis: ADHD. Feed you pills to calm you down, with Koolaid to speed you up. They command you like an army of soldiers to stride through rainbow painted halls. And if you're too loud, they'll yell a little louder to make you be quiet. And they let you run around crazy on recess for a whole 20 minutes. But half that time they spend yelling and directing you. Mrs. M says I need to be mean to control you says you'll forget about it in a few minutes anyway. But I don't have a stern voice to call upon when you're letting your energy explode in the classroom. And that sub told me to stop cheering you up with singing. Said you need to toughen up. You are 5 years old, and I'm gonna sing if I want to.