The Good People

My school is filled with good people.

It’s filled with people who want to do good, and want to help, and want to go home at the end of the day thinking something positive about themselves. There are anti-homophobic posters on the walls, and there are people in offices that want to talk it out and warn you of things and everyone has their feet cemented to the floor and they do not kick.

The cement does not crack, and we all remain standing, frozen, never changing, never moving, just smiling.

Every position is filled, every space or necessity, the good people are there, the good people with their rose tinged glasses and their singsong voices. And they are not going anywhere. And I am angry with them, I am furious. It is not their fault, I am not in the position I am because they put me here, those good people; I am here because they do not kick at their cement boots. I am here because along the way we started thinking that better by comparison means the best we’re ever going to get.

There are children in India desperately learning under a bridge, there are children who do not learn at all, and I go to a middle class school, with middle class education, and I am miserable, and I am not grateful, and I am not willing to let this one slide. I exist with in a system that has a very hard time telling the different between manipulation and education, I exist within a system where it does not matter what I do, no matter how dramatic, things will not change, because voices do not matter. My voice doesn’t matter, the good people’s voices don’t matter, it doesn’t matter how right I am, I can be right all I like, I can be coherent and sensible and thoughtful and right, I will not have anymore control over my own body and where it goes than a fly has control over the sun.

I am a prisoner in my luxury and I drown in the mistakes of my peers.

And everyone is telling me that the system works, that I am a blip, a misinterpretation, that I am this rare thing that everyone is just a little too surprised to see and nobody changes an entire system for just one miserable girl. And that is how I know that something is wrong. Systems should not have to change for so little; they just need to budge just a little bit.

But you need permission for everything and nothing is negotiable.

So I am stuck because people do not run the system that I exist within. The good people with their cement boots and hopeful smiles and the students with their resentful glares and bored glances, and all I have ever wanted is for someone in power to speak to me like I have half a brain cell, because I’m either depressed just because I am for no other reason or I’m an attention seeker.

And the good people do not act like good people.

Laws are put in for two reasons; the first is to keep people safe, and the second is to oppress. And the good people, the good people in my school, believe that they are gospel. And they are not. And I am choosing not to be certain because I’m not sure, I’m not sure that this is a reality I want to be in, I’m not sure that this was a good idea, I’m not sure that the system that has promised to take care of me for 900 more days is on my side.

Have you every felt like someone is trying to wrangle you even when you’re standing perfectly still? That’s how I feel. The educational system is snake wrangler set on a bunch of teenagers, and the teenagers are trying to fight back, because something is attacking them even though when they’re left alone for fifteen minutes and spoken to like they have a few IQ points to rub together they’re as sensible as everyone else.

If you treat anyone like an idiot their probably gonna get pissed and I’m pissed because every time I try to argue, nobody argues back.

Nobody will even argue with me, I am not even worth an argument, how sad is that? And I want someone to get angry, I want to be put in detention and suspended and all because if I’m not fighting, if I’m not being right as loud as I possibly can, I’m just sitting here, being sad.

And I am angry, and bored, and resentful, and repressed, and bored, and whatever is going on it sucks no matter how better it is than something else.

I want to study externally, and I want to be better, and speak like a real person, and I want to be able to get a tattoo, because this is my body and it cases my thoughts and my motives, and I am not faceless.

I am not faceless.

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