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They are not my relatives,
They are not my friends,
They want to teach me
How I have to be
How I have to live
Who I can love
What I can do
They call me a sinner
They call me a harlot
Who are they to teach me?
Who are the masters of puppets?
Who are the masters of delusion?
Hortus Closus 
I love it!
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Great !
We don’t need no education
We don’t need no thought control
No dark sarcasm in the classroom
Teachers leave them kids alone
Hey! Teachers! Leave them kids alone!
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They called me the Dyke, the Beast, the Amazone. I smiled and teached them a lesson. Now they know who i am. 😉
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🙂
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Don’t let anyone teach you esp. if you did not choose them as your teacher
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The right to be who we are, who we choose to be is one that must never be given up. Nice poem, love it’s message.
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Givers of lessons
Surely have some time to waste ;
Let’s not be like them.
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In my “so male” job,
respect is an endless fight ;
but I’m improving.
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This one is good!
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Society thinks it’s the master. LOLOL They are the one’s who are delusional.
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Teachers can be mean sometimes. They need to look in the mirror.
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Who are they indeed? Those who kill cartoonists? Those self-appointed rulers? Or killers? No one knows who they are, but they are in the shadows.
(Je me suis laissé emporter. the shadows come from the song “Le partisan”, words by Emmanuel d’Astier de la Vigerie and retaken in a splendid version by Leonard Cohen…)
Yet it remains: Who are they? Who are you?
(Très beau texte. Merci Esther)
🙂
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