Sunday, March 17, 2013

Teacher, Dear

Teacher, dear
I'm sorry I acted up in class today.
(No, I'm not sorry.)
Home is not a safe place
it's where the beatings happen,
so I had to        lose my mind...

Teacher dear,
I'm sorry I came to school drunk today.
(though I really don't care.)
Father keeps forcing sex on me,
and he says that I'm a slut,
so I had to       drown my mind
(to stay alive).

Teacher, dear,
I'm sorry that I couldn't stay awake in class today.
(I'm so tired...)
With mother gone to work all night
someone has to watch the others,
and my voice stuck deep
inside my throat     won't let me say.

I wish you knew!
But the fear I hold inside
paralyzes        everything.
And I wish I could die...

Somehow, it isn't right,
that rage and sadness are the only things
left in me;
rage and sadness, hidden tears...
I'm only trying           
to numb the pain.

Teacher, dear,
I'm sorry, but I'll probably fail in your class, this year.
Education is a burden,
and home is not the safest place it ought to be,
it's a hidden world       of misery and hate
and degradation.

So, shut your mouth!
How would you know
anything I'm going through?
The places I am bleeding from
the damage that's been done...
How would you know,

how would you know?

Oh, Teacher, dear
don't keep me here
don't hold me close      I want to go...
just let me go,

just let me go...

1 comment:

  1. Powerful look into a soul in agony. As a teacher, I am a "mandated reporter." If I suspect a child is abused (I don't have to have proof, just a feeling) I am required by law to directly contact Child Protective Services, who then is required to investigate within 10 days. I have never done this though others have. I would not hesitate, though..... I wish I had been there to be this child's teacher. Sorry, your "reactions" categories don't include "lacerated"