We sit behind brown desks shaped like perfect squares,
Copying down the facts we’re told we need to know.
Pens and pencils scratching on paper.
All the while we wonder,
Would it be more efficient to simply bring in blades and carve these facts into our own flesh?
Make them part of ourselves,
Our flesh, blood, breath, food, life,
Our essence, at least until the next test.
No need to mull anything over,
To examine the delicate threads holding it all together.
As long as we can circle the correct choice on the test, nothing else matters.
We must accept the fabric handed to us by those whose shadows we exist within.
If the material is frayed, torn and filled with asbestos,
We must overlook that and cherish the great gift we’ve been given.
Right up to the day we find ourselves withered, destitute and alone.