Chalk Outlines

By Breckyn Forcey

They say
education is the great equalizer,
but I’ve seen schools
that look more like prisons
and kids
already carrying their mugshots
in the color of their skin.

I’ve seen hallways patrolled
by officers,
not counselors.
Seen metal detectors
before pencils.
Seen suspension slips
handed out
like candy
in neighborhoods
where candy
is already a luxury.

They don’t teach history here,
just edited versions
of conquest and obedience.
They don't teach kids
how to rise,
only how to behave
while sinking.

They tell kids to dream
then punish them
for trying to stay awake.

Call it “zero tolerance”
but what they mean
is zero patience
for trauma
that doesn’t wear a uniform.

What they mean
is: we will not hold space
for your pain.
But we will hold a spot
for your prison number.

They don’t expel problems.
They expel people.

Call them “at-risk”
like a warning label
instead of a warning sign.

Label a child disruptive
for being hungry.
Label her defiant
for asking why.
Label him dangerous
because no one ever taught him
what safety looks like.

They cuff a 7-year-old
for throwing a tantrum
but don’t ask
why a 7-year-old
already knows rage
more intimately than recess.

They say:
“Not all schools are like this.”
And I say:
Not all children get to be children.
Some are just born
into consequence.

Some never hear
“you are brilliant,”
only
“you are behind.”

Some learn
their value
from security cameras
and standardized tests
that were never
standard to begin with.

I’ve watched
a girl be called “loud”
for having a voice,
while her male classmate
gets praised
for “leadership potential.”

I’ve watched
a boy get suspended
for wearing a hoodie
and speaking truth,
while the kid next to him
quotes hate
and gets an A
for debate class.

You can’t teach justice
in a system
that punishes poverty
and funds privilege.

You can’t preach opportunity
when zip codes
dictate futures
and libraries close
while jails expand.

But still,
they rise.

I’ve seen them
write essays
with cracked knuckles
and fire in their throats.
Seen them create
entire futures
out of cardboard and hope.

I’ve seen resistance
scribbled in notebooks
passed quietly between desks,
“We are more
than their statistics.”

We are the dropout
who became a poet.
The expelled
who became a healer.
The labeled
who became leaders
in spite
of every system
designed to say
you won’t.

So no,
education is not equal.
Not yet.
But we are learning.

We are unlearning.

We are building
classrooms
in poems.
Diplomas
in protest signs.

We are turning
detention halls
into declarations.

We are teaching
ourselves
how to dream
louder
than they ever allowed.

And we are not done
rising.