"The Dictation Zone"

 

"The Dictation Zone"

This one class is something odd,
A rigid rule, a silent nod.
No room to move, no place to breathe,
Just sit and listen—can’t even seethe.

Something weird, I must confess,
Feels more like prison, nothing less.
Somewhat like dictating air,
We’re told to act like we’re not there.

No cellphones out, no laptops near,
Our tools for work? Forbidden here.
Just ears and eyes on front, unmoved,
While freedom’s voice is disapproved.

A friend presents—just one, alone,
While we become obedient stone.
We watch and nod, and that's the plan,
No prep allowed. Just hear the man.

No whisper shared, no silent glance,
No second chance to take a stance.
The screen is dark, my thoughts are bright,
But crushed beneath the teacher’s might.

I want to prep, to read ahead,
But “No,” he says, “Just listen instead.”
Ideas swirl, they won’t stay still,
But he's the law, against my will.

Do you think this class is good?
Stripped of tools, misunderstood?
Learning should be more than this—
Not just rules and lectures missed.

No freedom here, no spark, no light,
Just quiet rows, and silent fight.
I dream of classes where we try,
To learn, to build, to ask the why.

But here I sit, and here I wait,
For something more than just dictate.
He says “Obey,” I want to grow,
But how, when all I hear is “No”?

A class should open up the mind,
Not lock us in and press rewind.
I want to build, to plan, prepare,
Not be a shadow in a chair.

The bell will ring, the time will pass,
But nothing learned in this odd class.
Just tired eyes and aching backs,
And dreams of walking freer tracks.

So here I sit, and here I plea,
Let learning live, let students be.
Give us tools, and let us rise,
Not just observe with tired eyes.