Dear Teachers by M.W

Dear Teachers


Students have lives,

In which you don’t see.

There is a part of us,

That needs to be free.


School is not my priority,

I prefer making money to eat.

I focus on living,

You focus on work being neat.


Every student learns a different way,

We’re forced to follow your rules.

While we struggle to conform,

And that’s what’s wrong with school.


I work 16 hours a night,

Because rent isn’t cheap.

Teachers yell at me  for sleeping,

And punish me for making a peep.


I can listen if I draw,

But get distracted if I’m still.

But you still force me,

To be a part of your drill.


How do you expect us to learn,

With that condescending tone.

You act like you’re better than us,

Please. Step off of your throne.


When the entire class fails,

You say we didn’t study.

Have you ever thought that,

Maybe your teaching is cruddy?


Grades don’t mean a thing,

Make sure we know the stuff.

Even if we write like a king,

Our papers are full of fluff.


We feel that grades define us,

But you swear that they do not.

So why do you cause this pressure,

It goes against what you taught.


You chose to be a teacher,

So learn from your class.

Every crowd has different needs,

Stop being an ignorant a*s.


Depression Poem by D.M.

All my thoughts got jumbled in my head, when I found out my dad was dead.

I sat in my room for hours and just cried, I couldn’t fight it no matter how hard I tried.

The worst part was the memories, every time I thought of him it would emphasize my miseries.

It creeps up on me when I least expect it, there’s nothing I can do but try and reject it.

That’s how I got to thinking that life is fucked up, even if you’re good, your life gets screwed up.

Im jumping over imaginary hurdles, no matter how fast I go I feel like I’m going slower than a turtle.

I know things will get better although I’d wish he’d come back, but he’s gone for good and he left my heart black.

My sky will be blue again I have hope, for now just get through it and try to cope.

I love him and I always will, and I know the solution isn’t in this pill.

Existence and Legacy by K.M.

We begin, we exist, and then we cease to be. That is all we are. Our journey may be perilous, and our trials may be taxing, but behind the facade of emotion and complexity that is life, that is all we are. We exist, and then we don’t. But there is something else. We may pass through existence as a small blip in the continuum of space and time, but what we leave behind is anything but. As a drop of blood does to water, it spreads. The smallest of changes, the most minor of differences, the world becomes us. Our beings become immersed in the sea of life, the gradual shift in hue from crystal clear to the slightest tint of red.

What do we leave behind? What is our legacy in life? How can we, as miniscule, unimportant beings, actually make a change? It is about the little things. From holding the door for a stranger for an extra second, or forcing out an extra smile at the end of the day for someone who needs it. It’s not much, and yet it is. These are the moments that change us, that make us human. We can go through life with all of its flash and grandeur, but sometimes these are the times that make us feel the most. They impact us in such a great way, it cannot be quantized. The cumulation of these moments is our legacy. This collection of small tidbits, combining into a tsunami of importance and monumental effect, a maelstrom of change. Because that is all we are, a collection of moments. Moments without any rhyme or reason to them, but when combined have the ability to make something great. We are fragments of time pieced together, a messy collection of glass shards hastily glued to a board. But when you step back from the board to take in the agglomeration as a whole, you see the beauty. It comes together to become something greater than the sum of its parts, it becomes you.

And the moments that we experience and use to shape ourselves eventually get passed down back into the world, a never-ending cycle of churning ideals and emotions. They are taken by another person, and the moment becomes theirs. Starting as a minute unimportant instant, it has the potential to grow and grow, becoming a behemoth of change. So, after all is said and done, the junction in the road was caused by something changing, a moment of difference. It is not about what we changed, or how. It is that it did.

Spoken Word Poetry by M.R.



Who are you to me

Who are you to tell me what I can be

You have no right

To control me

Because who you are

Is nothing to me

I don’t care what you think

Or what you can do

Because I will never be afraid of anyone

Not even you

So go ahead


I will be my self

And do what I want

I will live my life

The Goddamn way I want


Preparation Time


Ten minutes out

Helmets come one

Talking stops

The silence is strong

Now it’s just me

Alone in my head

Think about my game up ahead

I rethink my moves

Over and over again

Preparing for when my moment to begin

Picturing myself out on the line

Anticipating the whistle

Ready to explode off the side

But then I snap back as

The bus rolls to a stop

Now the real game will began

And I will no doubt win