Looking back I laugh,

how can I not?

We hold ourselves and our pupils to standards

-such high standards too soon, I wonder.

Learn and educate yourself is what I have been told,

so why is when I sit in this progressive class

-Comic Spirit- that I have already learned what he is to teach.

The ideology, the story line, the meanings in between,

each sentence may be new but the story is the same.

Colors mean not what they are but what emotion

they invoke, words mean not what they say but how 

to hear between the sounds, lies are spread by the author

to convince the reader the story is true. But I see

-now that I write- I see the similarity in life, the sameness

of our writings, stories, and tales, the repetition of who we are

in our everyday life unfolds on the page in which we write.

I see and I feel the authors same pain -how to tell a story 

that can be read the way I intend- to convince the reader 

I have stood where they stand that my life and my words

are to break their bond of silence to give them the life

they have denied themselves so long. I write for myself

because writing for you is too hard, a challenge I 

can not accept, my happiness means more to me than yours.