A Reservoir of Words

From where does this chaos come?
Plunging in, having no impact on its current state,
forcing myself against the rip currents of
apathy, self-doubt,
low standards,
anger,
directed at a world unkind
and uncaring.
Why would I be any different?

In a room abandoned by authority
not once, but twice
(of which I am aware)
are children the world will judge due to
their circumstances
without any consideration of
their circumstances
without any consideration of
the toll taken by teachers leaving,
social promotion without reading,
judging school performance sans sleeping.
Maslow told us what they needed
and we ignored it ‘cause the man’s greedy.

A life is lived before
Life hands them to me.
Do the undoable, I’m told,
erase their tablets, their gashes,
their scribbles, their beauty
and their brightness.
Broad strokes are supposed to paint over
years of meticulous details.
Remove their larger image,
the distinct makeup of their lives—
the system isn’t made for their complexities
So we swap it for uniformity.

In all other contexts we would acknowledge
Their darkness and harshness
and lightness and fullness—it’s still art.