A Plea from Room 105

All I do is learn.

I’m sick and tired of learning.


What do I wish to do?

I want not to learn, but to do.


I want to discover.

I want to create.


I want to stop all the absorbing, and forgetting—

start giving, and remembering.


I want to make a change, not just in routine.

I want to impact. Not wait for the fall.


I don’t want to be the best of them all.

I want to soar, on my own accord.


Here I am, not boxed in, not at all.

I am roped down.


Yes, my mind is free to wander, to dream

But it’s a give-and-take scheme.

A sugar-coated plotting.

My life set on a one-track train

determined by a letter,



From the very beginning, I was drowned

within a crucible none other than life itself.

It is the illusion that as I grow older, I grow



Numbers are my love-hate relationship

Charting my course towards the end.

An end that sucks up—


All that is too imperative

for waste.



This cinderblock-classroom teaches me nothing, don’t they see?

Eighteen years shut up in a dream

Where my pen shuffles across endless seas of blue lines

If I tell you how many times I have written the letter, ‘x’

You might just cry

quaking with laughter.


It is not the end of the world, they say

These days of youth are a blessing—for today.

I have not witnessed the gore-webbed flesh of soldiers, face-to-face

But I’ve seen thousands within the glistening pages of AP U.S. History.

So am I thankful to be locked up, here?

To cherish this hushed moment of solitude?

Of keyboard clicks and time bombs

crooked spines, fist-fights?


For all the hours I’ve spent finding the radius of Circle A

and tallying the deaths of truths, empires, and dramatis personae

I could have been lending a hand

to the blind.

The sick.

The starving.

The decrepit.

I could have been saving a life

Lifting trembling fingers from a trigger.

My shoulders are strong, from carrying paper and lead

though my hands are scrawled all over with the dead.

With the lives I could have saved.

The tears I could have caught.

That grasp on adventure, that slipped away too, too fast…


Stop it.


Why even bother, wishing for such things?

Life is not a game to play, don’t you understand, love?

You may rebel all you like, my dear, but “I’ve saved lives” is not guaranteed

to make a dent in your

Future applications.


Suck it up, my friend.

You are never to be defined by a letter, number, or any photograph

Just your time.


See, the thing is

I know more than you ever could,

about the world.

But tell me, please, I beg of you—

what does life look like, outside an iron-barred window?

How could you survive, without a pyramid of text to keep you sane?

Calculations to stimulate your brain?

What’s a heart without a label?

Your ways confuse me, Freedom.

I already know, that wars don’t happen in other worlds.


I just choose to ignore them.


I could go on and on with this ramble.

Keep my book eclipsed beneath binder rings, pen moving at a generic pace

But the bell is about to shriek

for the hundredth time this year.

And I will have to move on

and learn about


I forgot.



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