At 7 AM, I walk through doors and go through a scanner.
I walk down hallways.
Lockers shut like the eyes of people who stayed home because they didn’t want to learn today.
Teachers in their rooms preparing for the day ahead.
Crowds of students like a house being flooded.

My high school is a prison.
Social lines are steel bars.
Stuck in our cells, awaiting mess hall.
Labels like “smart” and “stupid.”
Making people feel ashamed.
I am in “smart.”
I know because of the awards I get at assemblies.
My high school is a prison.

Trained at a young age to spell out words.
Taught now that words spell you out.
My high school is a prison.

I hear the education system is failing.
I believe they are succeeding at what they’re built to do.
Making people feel bad about themselves.
Not encouraging them to live up to their God-given potential.
My high school is a prison.