lingering thoughts
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You sit behind your desk
Looking very grotesque
Because you are scared
That you are ill-prepared
One of us will out shine
Causing you to whine.
Is that fair?
To swear.
Cellulose, glucose, disaccharides, evolution.
One more assignment I swear, there will be a revolution.
The homework is hard, while exams nearly cause treasoning.
Picking this class was stupid, beyond logical reasoning.
Open your books
Turn to page..
Wait open up a book to learn about nothing that is me
Turn to a page that has only been printed to read against me
Today we will be reading the chapter...
You never seem to see.
Attention is what she rarely gets.
Because ignoring is just easier.
Easier than watching her cry.
Easier than watching her die.
A little bit each day.
You never pull her aside.
Why must I sit down in this environment, We got students dropping out and old teachers retiring, I mean Im not one for admiring, But to me this teachers aren't inspiring, They sit on their desk talking nonsense babbling sounding childish, Its time
For the sixth time this morning
you called her ugly
For the tenth time today
you called her stupid
For the hundredth time this week
you called her useless
And when she came to school today
I think of my future and how you are in the way
i think about that one passing grade
and while i stare out the window and listen to your incessant droning on
They say bring your own device,
But now we can leave behind the teacher?
I miss the personal guidance and advice
Of an instructor, a mentor, a living creature.
They say here, everything is on these iPads;
What can I do / When you dont have a clue / You never knew / I just wanted to say screw you // I just wanted to earn / I really yearned / But with you I cant learn / And now I'm no longer your concern.
Your words come at me like a swarm of bees. Stinging me and you just can't see. They sting so hard and it happens so fast. I asked a question now I understand less than I did in the past. Your explanations just threw me off track.
My hands are sweating,
My mind is fretting.
The clock is ticking,
The time is shrinking.
Still I sit here and stare,
Spacing off into thin air.
Finally I pick up my pencil,
I should know this, I should know this...
I should know this by heart.
I've done it so much
I should have it down like an art.
What do to? What to say?
Can I ask how to start
You don’t know me,
My book has yet to be released.
Judge me when you have the right,
But for now, turn left.
A slip here, a slip there. I am sure the teacher will not care.
She knows we secretly call her names. The witch or Ms. Happy is what we dubbed her to be.
Oh trust me, Ms. Happy is not what it seems.
