By Anonymous ADDult
I was the girl with big brown eyes,
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A spring in my step, too much so at times,
Staring up from the infant class,
Waiting to learn, so full of life.
It seemed she was bright, creative and keen,
But things as they might, were not as they seemed,
And the girl peeking out from under the desk,
They lost, it seemed, when she kicked and she screamed.
There was a light in that child’s eyes,
A winner at sport, a gymnast inside;
But forfeit to dreaming of living the dream, for
Too temperamental! too hard to train!
And then she had wished that the dream never cease,
But society split that one right down the seams;
Her father it seemed thought nothing to gain,
But lost childhood days and financial bane.
Clever or not, the rules were to bend,
But stand out at break when caught in the end,
However hard she tried make amends,
She was too much, and had few loyal friends.
The family, of course, was always to blame,
And let it be known that the counsellor came,
But the girl so used to always leave last,
Was loathed to miss her pottery class.
Her work always seemed to get a good grade,
But she’d sit for a weekend, alone and afraid,
By the homework she’d desperately tried to evade;
A struggle imagined self wrought and self-made.
And now a new school, at the age of thirteen,
Disliked as she was at school they believed
Nothing about her, always out on the go,
Thought she was on drugs, not wanting to know.
And when at 14, time to start the home straights,
To GCSEs -she was told she’d get A’s
But she wondered in late, despite making the grades
She became one for others to hate.
Her work wasn’t done, school was a chore,
And life seemed to be a series of doors
Closed to her as she was forced down a course
She’d rather not take, and began to hate.
They said she was lazy, she needed to try,
But she winged her exams on a flick through the lines
Of a textbook she just couldn’t sit and abide
To read as she’d need to do at the right time.
“A dreamer”, “just trouble”, “she acts like a whore!”
Her so-called friends thought plenty and more;
She didn’t care, and ceasing to try,
Pathological lies got her caught by the law.
As the summer time came, a girl of 14,
Troubled inside, but lost in a dream,
Claimed she was crazy, saw no other way out,
Convinced them adeptly, despite mother’s doubt.
But no one would hark to the pleas of her mum,
Hard working she was, and loving and fun,
A troubled teen needs a little more help-
But her father insisted her mind had quite gone.
A manic-depressive, they said, but they failed,
To notice her hyperactivity paled;
When worn out she’d secretly lie on her bed,
No pattern suggesting she's high in her head.
Shut away from the world, no fight left to try,
And doped to the eyeballs, no tears left to cry;
She sat as the current carried her through,
And slid to depression with little to do.
At 16 years old she decided to leave,
She went back to college, a few times or three;
But never got anything worth all her fees,
She just assumed she was excessively lazy.
To take a degree was an idea of dreams;
Hoping to regain some lost self-esteem.
But all she could claim for the effort she made,
Was to now be well-schooled in impulsive change.
At the end of the year, she left with no grades;
Told she was stupid and useless and late,
By a tutor who’s quite as mature - so we hear,
As a twelve-year-old boy after six cans of beer.
She almost gave up, went home and gave in,
And sat on the sofa, day out and day in,
Dreaming the dreams of what there could be,
If only she’d found some more drive to succeed.
She found a few labels which fit to a T,
That everything there on the list was just she,
But people aren’t made to a template for all,
If we think so we can’t help but hit a brick wall.
And now that despite not a typical swot,
And not quite fitting society’s lot,
Of set expectations, actions and dreams,
Things are not quite, the things that they seem.
The ideas were tough to come to the front,
The decision much harder, for love or for want,
She decided to throw away all of life’s rules,
This was the world, this is no school.
Her qualifications are not her IQ,
Motivation to fit, doesn’t mean you’ll pull through;
Lack of attention dissolves with belief?
Who says education’s a route to relief?
And now is she sitting and waiting to see
What life brings her next? That isn’t likely;
The world is her oyster, she couldn’t care less
What people had told her as that caused such a mess.
It isn’t about the names we’re assigned,
The lines of an essay, your A-grade declined;
Or labels from doctors; excuse to stagnate,
There is no such thing as too little too late.
A teacher once told me when I was a child,
That I could do anything I put to mind.
Now I look onwards and see that it’s time,
To choose my own destiny; claim back my life.
I was the girl with tears in her eyes,
Waiting to learn; needing to lie.
Over ten years on down the line I see,
The truth is, that teacher did not lie to me.
By Anonymous ADDult
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