the life sentence

There was high school, I suppose.
That was the longest sentence of life to date.
The hideous part about schoolbooks is that they tend to follow the rules.
The only teacher who broke the rules, told me I could write, said I had a way, a style, got fired then died.

So there you have it.
Yes, high school walls will crack you into place alright,
Tell small children to reverse their gait.
From it and teach, and all those other kinds who tend to tell you what to do,
I have learnt indeed one thing,
A small thing, its true,
To break the rules is the best way to do.
For the break the rules leaves you alone to carve new pavement stones,
Muddy your feet a little on the unplucked grass.
For words are a construct of the self,
These are vssels for providing messages,
No less.
So grammer and spelling and all those other lovely lessons,
in my book
Are worth less that that which teachers oughnt to taught them on.
The writer is not taught.
The writer writhes out of birth,
Circumstance,
And a great many events that cause him to take up any key pad or ancient instrument
Of scribe and use blood
To ink it dry.
As for high school, yes, you,
It can pen itself.