get yourself out of there | a protest story

Too much pressure clouds the sky, too much pressure shuts down the stars, I learn in an environment where kids hang from toilet stall ceilings and the schools fall silent on the matter of non-existence, self-erasure, nobody did anything to themselves alone, that was never taught.

I stand outside buildings, lies in their bones, brains that stopped learning, ever-acquiring, houses growing bigger, bank accounts bursting, repeating the same structures, the same stories, the same material, over and over again, bleaching generations, the same voices from the past, decontextualized, recontextualised, one angle and perspective, where does all this wealth come from, everything has a history and origin, and outside of these buildings where violent people talk to me for six hours a day, I wait for a ghost child to appear at a window amongst many to tell me that they are okay now, but why would they stay, stay there, waiting for someone to stop and look up at them and call them back, confirming that they had existed, remembering their stories that contain so many gaps and unfinished sentences.

I look at the teaching faces, study them for hours, they take my time, take my life, and force me to learn, force me to be good at everything, everything that had been standing still for decades, everything to make me function in the real world, in the working world, in the money-making world, the exploitative world, where does all this wealth come from, vacuous world, and I ask myself, who allowed you to be here, how come someone like you stands there, all powerful and despotic, in charge of children and adolescents, you with that temper, you with that violence, in your words, your body language, your face, how you move inside those classrooms, for years, inferior, subordinate, good at everything, use me, use me, build a house, bow, don’t draw outside the lines, who cleared you to be here and fill your pockets, boost your ego, making everybody feel so small, like a never-ending failure, a rock bottom cockroach.

Where does all this wealth come from, look at you, look at you, with your status and your pretentiousness, look at you, standing still, in a system that abuses and terrorises, built on the brittle stones of yesteryears, you’re so comfortable, with a dying youth, be good at everything, will I make it out alive, your classroom and buildings, will you stay in my head, you’re no good, you’re no good, learn by heart, never apply, you don’t understand a thing, function like a soldier, bottom of the hierarchy, future of the world, misled, every time I go to the bathroom I am scared of locked stalls, scared that someone has decided to stop existing in the world you preached, in the world you shrank according to your perspective, the walls closing in on us, I never saw a child come back to haunt the halls it escaped.

My own drawing © Laura Gentile 2022 | Instagram: croque_melpomene

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