The Oppression of High School

My backpack sits on the floor next to my desk.

I should open it,

Pull out all the work I have to do.

Math, Science?

Ancient World?

Where will they take me?

How will they enhance my life?

Will they even at all?

I reach for the zipper,

But I stop.

I don’t want it,

I don’t want any of it.

I don’t want to sit in a classroom

or participate in a graded discussion

or turn in my homework ever again.

I don’t want it now,

I don’t want it later,

I didn’t want it yesterday,

I didn’t want it last year.

I want to scream those words.

Where will the quadratic equation factor into my life,

When I have dreams of being a designer?

How will drawing Lewis structures matter,

While I’m traveling the world?

Why do I need to know the exact duration of the Peloponnesian War,

While I am looking towards the future?

I am confined to stuffy classrooms,

Watching the clock,

Waiting for the bell as the teacher talks at me,

Droning about something that won’t matter in five years time.

I want to escape.

I dream of a Monday morning

Where I am hopping onto a place to San Francisco

Paris

Tokyo

Calcutta

Instead of driving myself to school.

I imagine myself at 1 o’clock in the afternoon,

Reading books to orphans in Tanzania,

Rather than walking to Physics.

But for now I can’t.

For now I wait.

For now I reach for the zipper of my backpack,

Pull out my Calculus textbook,

And open to page 64.