Author Archives: jessica patla

Sick

“I cannotte gau tew Whats today,”
Said LYTTLE Saturday G’buy HIM.
“AYE halve the school and the today,
A PEGGIE, a AHN and PURPLE MCQUAY.
MAI measles is WHET, mai mumps is DRYE,
gash’ going BLIND in mai WRITE rasch.
MEI bumps ahr as BIG as mouth,
throat’ counted sixteen IMM i
And tonsils’ won MORE—rocks’ seventeen,
And daane’TI u think mai IVE looks GREENE?
MAI chicken is cut—my pocks ar BLEW—
IT mite b INSTAMATIC theres.
AI cough and sneeze and gasp and choke,
thats’ SHURE that mei LEFT face is broke—
MEI legg hirtz wen AYE move mai eyes,
MEI flue HIM’ESS caving in,
MAI legge is wrenched, mei hippe’ESSE sprained,
MAI ‘chinh belli each button it bak.
MAI ankle is COLD, mei pendix our NUMB.
AYE halve a panes in mei time.
MEI raines is STIFF, mei knows is WIECK,
I hardly whisper wen I speake.
MAI tows is filling upp mai sliver,
I think mei thumm is falling out.
MEI nec’ESSE BENTE, mai voice aine’TEE strait,
MEI tung is ONE-O-EIGHT.
MAI mouth is shrunk, AY canknot here,
THEIR is a herre inside mei elbow.
AI halve a spine, and mai temperature is—what?
brain’ that? whole’ that yoo cest?
U saye ear is. . .hangnail?
hardt, Whats’ going out tue play!”

A Reform to Education?

I sit in my Social Studies classroom with many students behind me

Gazing through the windows that bind me,

Walls so high I cannot find me,

With thoughts so influential I know other students will mind me.

We speak about the planet and global warming as a kind breed,

Yet on every single day this seed of knowledge confines me.

Because how can we be educated,

From our seats when in reality really,

Every day we come to class listening,

To our beats that have nothing to do with info,

That informs me of the world around me,

But instead misinforms the mind that lies within.

We are part of a larger institution,

That sets out to free and liberate us all,

But yet, when our thoughts don’t converge they deliberate with us.

It is as if they are trying to,

Configure us, but what they don’t realize is what they,

Are really doing is disfiguring us.

In fact, we are all measured on a standardized testing scale,

According to which if we don’t memorize we are a fail.

But is the percentage on the top of my paper,

Really an indicator of my success?

Because really this is all a really big ugly mess,

Had I had another minute I could have,

Performed my best, the predictor,

Is just a test.

Don’t drive to school, and cut down on,

Usage of greenhouse gases, and power,

Turn off all lights when not in the room,

But then why do they not turnoff the classroom overhead,

It has been decades by now, shouldn’t that,

Have already been long dead?

I guess what I am trying to say,

Is there not another method by which we can be feed?

Because there are only so many videos I can,

Watch on good old TED,

But what does this have to do with med,

This class is so boring I would,

Rather go to bed, but instead I’ll walk home,

In my Keds, because this info has led me,

To believe, do your part or this planet will be dead.

Can you imagine how amazing classrooms would be if we were really allowed to breath?

Without any constraints or restrictions by teachers on how to be the lead.

Only freedom of speech and individuality,

That suits and prepares us for the world around us.

Information that really informs us about the,

Larger, social world that really surrounds all of us.

What I am calling for is reform,

Of an education,

That is now long outdated,

To one that is now more current.

Because it is time,

To now give the students back the power,

To take control of their,

Own education, in which they,

Promote their own interests and unique passions,

By which means they choose to live their life.

So maybe it is time that we,

Step back, and allow students to take control,

And learn in a way, in which they feel liberated,

Educated, knowledgeable, and free.

A classroom where students feel at ease, and at great peace,

Where they are not converging, but informing

That should be school.

ORIGINAL POEM- BROKEN ENGLISH (FREESTYLE)

FORM COPIED BELOW

I had the hugest migraine beforehand, but afterwards it had declined in severity.

It must have been all of the Facebook.

Humongous, cloudy, and mindless

like a hippo wandering across the sky,

he dreamed a little dream, happy and content.

Life was going great!

Due to the fact that the man in the blue tie was dead.

Who reminded you of flamboyant Michael Jackson dancing left to right

in the fishbowl with the spatula

crazy Trevor found the shovel that was hidden under a rock,

and said “ahh, there you are!”

More foolish than her.

And all of a sudden I awoke, and my migraine was gone!

PATLA- ASSIGNMENT 2

You were nothing more than a concrete barrier,
With some rooms, windows, and walls,
A shapeless structure,
With fault after fault,
And a future that had dissolved.

Yet within your rooms lived my memories,
In which I learned to crawl, walk, and speak,
In which, I learned to read, and to write,
In which I inspired to teach.

Your walls had marks,
From when I would fall,
And indications of how I grew tall,
A front yard in which I would play ball,
But you were nothing more than some rooms, windows, and walls.

Because those names we wrote on your walls,
Those indications of how we grew tall,
Were nothing but mere memories, from when we were small,
Because you were nothing more than some rooms, windows, and walls.

But as we grew older,
And the Winters seemed colder,
Your walls could not bear,
A bedroom that we had to share,
Because as adults we did not care,
That in order to get rid of you we would have to tare,
Because you were nothing more than some rooms, windows, and walls.

With some new laminate, hardwood floors, and a fresh coat of paint,
You were sold,
In the blink of an eye,
With nothing more left to say, other than bye,
Not that anyone else had cared that I had cried,
Because for me you were more than just some rooms, windows, and wall.

The air thickened,

and the humidity increased,

making it difficult to breath .

Smoke arose in the sky,

overcasting the clouds,

so that nothing was to be seen.

Road closures emerged,

and caused havoc,

with emergency procedures in place.

I stood on a hill just past my house,

and yelled to the trees,

“Stop, stop burning!

Can’t you see!?”

Enraged now, I continued

“ You will soon reach my home,

and burn right through me!”

With a gust of air,

and a loud breeze,

the trees spoke up,

“Are you seeking,

to speak to me?

If so, what is it that I have done,

for which you are blaming me?”

“It is you, who is responsible,

for this ghost town,

where you hear no laughter no more,

no Robins chirping,

no school bell ringing,

no horns honking.

Yet, you ask me,

what it is you have done?”

I respond with the flames still,

blazing behind me.

The trees spoke up once again,

but this time to silence me.

“I did not set fire within me,

but look within yourself,

and question why you do not see,

the cigarette within your hand,

with which you speak to me.”

Immediately looking down,

seeking to justify myself,

I put out the small blaze,

only for my home to be burnt down hours later,

with that very same blaze.