My minds is not here,
I find myself un found,
Bemused if not confused,
My head is constantly looking down,
Timid to even make a sound.
But I know maths is not the END
Yes! Figures and I are distant friends.
It's not hate but rather a shame,
How numbers conclude the expressions on my face.
Time stands still during her gruelling lessons,
The blackboards moving,
Bulling my inner most perceptions.
Annoyed, I would table my confession:
'Mathematics is for the white man'
If not, then why do I not understand?
At school we are judged by how well we could solve for ex,
As if ex reflects the individuals who we are to become next.
I'm PERPLEXED! By this system,
Which sets demands and does not listen,
To our YEARNING voices just because we're children,
Children with wisdom challenging this system.
I failed a spot test and suddenly I'm a victim?
A victim of being a statistic like the majority who have now conformed to drinking.
Degrading reports are intended to submerge our moral spirits,
Tutors imply results represent efforts we've been depicting,
Tertiary lecture doors closed claiming significant scores are missing.
One's dreams therefore fades like light beams,
Darkness creeps and sweeps with her what one's life needs:
A whole's family's hopes now broke and torn,