Read (An essay I wrote for school)

A place no prose may enter,
is the place of my despair. 
For you see, it is the center, this place beneath my hair. 
A place by which all thought consumes
the worry of my time;
so much so that even simple schooling is
replaced by complex rhyme. 

I’ll break the spine of many heads,
so that I just might learn;
and yet no knowledge enters me;
and so this is my concern. 

Page by Page and note by note,
I soak up many heads;
but lest I drown out every word,
I have to take my meds. 

My frustration comes from school and play;
both equal in my eyes. 
And if you were to ask who lives in Hamlet,
I would say that, “No one dies.”

This place that causes so much grief,
I love beyond belief. 
Yet its attention is so very brief;
stolen by a focus thief. 

There are many aspects, most of which I cannot say,
to whom I owe clarity of both night and day. 
It is the psyche of the cursed;
for only knowledge do I thirst.
Yet there is a drought,
along the route,
of the perception that won’t burst.

So why torment me, heads on shelves?
Why do you laugh amongst yourselves? 
Is my place not good enough? 
Am I not meant to learn from stuff? 
You keep so much from me;
so much that I would like to see. 
Perhaps it is my passion that leads to this silly ration. 

My place is governed by bureaucracy,
which is why I project such hypocrisy. 
A red tape of enormous size,
stretches across both my eyes. 
And all the while, as I wait to feed,
I ask, “Why can I not just read?”