The Educational Psychologist puts it in context,
To a room full of teachers, he defines the complex,
Of all those children, disordered and unruly,
I raise my hand, ‘Please Sir – would you have judged me so shrewdly?’
What would you have seen in that kooky, choosy,
screwy, fruity, moody, loony teen?
What would I be if you put me in a box,
To unlock the paradox of this disruptive chatterbox?
A genius with Aspergers, or ADHD,
Oppositional defiant, with a conduct disability,
I had generalised anxiety and grandoise delusions,
A factitious discord with fregoli illusions,
Mildly catatonic,anti-social, occasional
bipolar, borderline intellectual,
A strong willed drama diva,
with ‘how to behave’ amnesia.
Each day I went home,
With a general adaptation syndrome,
And a touch of hyper-mania,
It gets even more insania.
Little impulse control,
Malingering manic episodes.
Post traumatic embitterment, Rationally belligerent,
Seasonal adjustment, rebellion deliberate.
And transient global amnesia to boot,
When I was fifteen I wasn’t that cute.
Would you have had the time or inclination to define,
The child who wouldn’t conform to societal conditioning norm,
Would you make a box to put me in?
Chuck me in the water to sink or swim?
Would you write my statistics down
whilst I drown or clown around?
Would I get a bitter pill to still the stress,
Of not being what you expect;
the kind of child selected, To be the perfect prefect,
Too numb to be anything but an invisible defect.
Sitting still in class – ification,
Hiding my irrepressible rebellion,
Just in case you try to kill,
My spirit with a regularly taken pill.
And would your pill find me
somewhere to be real,
Someone to see beneath the skin,
would it keep the pain in?
So it don’t spill in the halls,
and run down the walls,
soaking my playground fears in tears
of public rain.
Can a pill kill that pain?
Please, assess and test me again.
Would I think you were wise
as the spark leaves my eyes,
And my genius dies,
while you sit in your suit and itemise.
My disorder that’s leaving
every cell in my being
screaming ‘Im sorry!’ I’m me.
I felt free! I thought I could be who I wanted to be.
I was too unconventional; did things unmentionable,
I was too objectionable, and not at all ‘ sit on that bench!’ able,
Would you make me broken and cordon me in,
take the credit for fixing me and boxing me in with Ritalin?
Kids too fast, kids too slow,
those who don’t know where to go,
Kids too cheeky, kids too sneaky,
those too challenging, or just a bit peaky.
Kids too truthful, kids too rue-full,
those too ‘won’t follow what you do!’ full
Kids too contentious, kids too rebellious,
those opting out of the prospectus of correctness
Is it right to dull the zealous and impetuous,
The marvellous and rebellious,
Miscontented, disaffected, and connected?
How do you decide who’s respected or rejected?
Kids in chaos. A common disorder,
Not being what society thinks they oughta
Have we nothing to learn from them at all?
Children empowered, feeling ten feet tall!
Really? Should we drug them all?