We walk a fine line, between tolerance and mistreatment

Acting so swift with your hair tied up and your back stick straight

I can see your pulse elevating by the temples on your lucid face

You look more like my personal lieutenant than an educator

Eyes like fire, glowing and tracing my every movement

I don't know why you scrutinize me like I'm wearing an orange jumpsuit

is it my quick tongue or my childest face that questions your tactics?

is it the common sense that I pour out from a pitcher that is never ending?

or am I the mirror in the morning that you aviod because reality is too tough to face?

What I speak of is the truth, the very same truth you lack.

I may not have superiorty now, but that is one more thing I will hang over your head later

Poor soul, you're at a dead end.

Treat us like your treat the teacher next door

because we both know that when you close the door cutting us off from the outside world, 

your smile fades and we become peasants from the mediaeval times.

When I hold up my hand, I tell you to read between the line

and believe me, I've got my reasons

Mistreatment and cruelty- from my superiority.