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English Class MAG
Biology parades around
 The dusty, torn-up
 Linoleum ground
 Theorems sing their battle cries
 And shake their fists into the sky
 While I simply wonder why
 Words seem unable to just die
 
 English sits in stoic pose
 Scrawling adverbs, fiction, prose
 Sterilizing careful letters
 Claiming that it will get better
 Sentences are diagrammed
 With feeble marks erased like sand
 English strives for dedication
 But I do not think it's patient
 
 Because words don't sing the way they should
 When they are carved into the wood
 That is mainstream spoonfed truths
 Like all my mapped-out math class proofs
 Sometimes words are butterflies
 In kaleidoscopic rainbow skies
 Or sometimes they are wingless birds
 With breaths that can be scarcely heard
 
 English class is none of these
 Bookwork carries no bright peace
 Raised hands held like bleached bone flags
 Won't calm the storms inside my head
 And paper never drinks true ink
 When we are given time to think

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