Middle School

They told us
“Lay waste 
To your imperfections
And follow us”
As if we had
Any choice.

They gave us
A composition notebook
A copy of Harper Lee’s
“To Kill a Mockingbird”
And a half-assed promise
Of prestige.

We worked until
We couldn’t stand
The exhaustion anymore.

When we moved
To the next chapter
Of our lives
The world was there
Waiting to say
“Conceal your wounds
And cover your amputations
With Band-Aids”.

We worked
And hobbled along
Until we fell
Face down
On the pavement.

We were ordered
To get up
And keep going
But felt
A certain comfort from
The hard pressure of concrete
Against our chests.

Could we 
Fall asleep here
And ignore 
What
Ails
Us?