sixth grade

They put you in a special class, and call you gifted
as if that solved anything.
It never does.
For one hour a day, you practice everything
you've learned how to hide in the classroom.
Then they throw you out into the playground
to play dodge-ball and scream when you're hit too hard
which you never are, since you learned long ago
that the point of the game isn't to play
it's to not get hit
something the other twelve-year-olds
don't understand
especially when you stand there,
the last one still in the game
the only one left who can make them win,
and dodge the balls again and again.
It's the one thing you learn from gifted class
that the object of the game
isn't to play.
The object is to survive.

6 thoughts on “sixth grade

      • Why sad – because I think when we are small, we just to feel the play, the fun but sometimes, “the true”, as you point out, is like a bit of tar in honey. And maybe, that is the truth in any human situation. I think the distance between what is and what I wish were so is too big today – so for me it remains a bit on the sad side but nonetheless, thank tou for your lovely poem!

        Liked by 1 person

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