Dear Professor

Location

Dear Professor,

Dear Instructor,

Dear Educator,

 

You say each day,

With your sinking skin, your greying hair,

That life’s not fair

As if we young, jaded souls

Had no idea  -

 

I’m younger than you

But that doesn’t make me a child

Nor does it make you the wise man,

The antique traveler, the seasoned neighbor. 

As if the amount of times

I’ve revolved around the sun

Measures out how much I’ve lived

And how well I can determine

If something is

Fair. 

 

You’re a self-entitled judge

Who views my world

As one smeared anachronism,

And so you bang

Your gavel, marking each paper

With an F

Because that’s all my kind are

Until we hit 30,

Because by then you’re not around to be

Proven wrong. 

 

Life’s not fair,

So let’s measure out our worth

In numbers and letters. 

Look at that smart girl, she got a 100;

Look that that stupid boy, he got a 93 –

It’s pointless,

Some of you say,

To try

And do anything other than teach us

For the next

Test –

But I’ve taken some of Life’s tests,

And I can tell you, teacher,

That the answer was not:

Log4 5 = 1024. 

 

Apply yourself.

I’ve gotten that thrown at me quite a few times,

It never ceases to anger me

Because I am. 

I apply myself everyday –

I’m just not worried about what number I turn out to be

Because I know who I am (most days)

And I know when I’ve failed myself

And when I’ve proven to myself

I am capable of great things. 

 

Things like learning to love myself,

And to accept myself,

And to accept that I am full

Of pencil smudges, cross outs, and white out –

But that’s fine, it’s more than fine

It’s fantastic,

I’m fantastic. 

 

Sometimes I think

You’ve just lost your way,

That once you did this because you were like me,

A phoenix in the middle of burning away,

All fire and ash,

Or that you were lost on the horizon,

Unsure if you were floating through

The sea or the sky. 

I feel bad for you

When I think this

And I grow frightened of my own future,

What if you’re here to serve as a mirror?

 

Mostly though

I think

You forget

You forget that we’re people

Passing through Life’s garden

Like a soft breeze.

In your forgetfulness we serve to remind you

Of your own humanity,

That we’re the mirrors –

But you don’t quiet understand,

So you’re left with nothing else

 

To say each day,

With your lost eyes, your forgotten heart

That life’s not fair.  

 

I know...I know...

And now it's time for me

To go.

 

 

 

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