Lament of the Academics


Do you ever stop to listen? Hear the agony in these walls?

The fact that most of us are trapped in hell, as we shuffle through the halls?

Do you ever stop to think, that maybe you might be wrong?

That maybe the work wasn’t done because of the anguish all night long?

That maybe, just maybe, that we are humans too?

We aren’t just little robots for you with insult to run through.


That girl you just were talking to, do you know her life story?

That maybe giving some positive encouragement could boost her up to glory?

That boy you just insulted, do you know what goes on in his head?

That he may be tortured night after night by the nasty things you said?

The whole class you dump your problems on, thinking that’s what we need to hear?

We’re here to learn and grow and work, not hear about your daughter dear.


Each of us comes here each day, dreading this small room.

We wonder what demeaning things we’ll hear today as we shuffle to our doom.

You think that you are just so great, and people love you so?

You the person, but not the teacher. See the problem? Yes or no?

You lord yourself above us, thinking you’re so great?

But your comments push us all towards the edge, piling on self damning hate.


But heavens no, that couldn’t be you. “I couldn’t pick favourites!” You say.

But there you are, bowing down to your “star,” worshipping him day by day.

And then you turn to my friends and I, who are sitting eager to learn.

And you tell us straight to our faces that we should be more like him, and turn.

When he sits there, every day, always disrupting class.

But when we try hard, and do our work, you’re still there; kissing his ass.


Did you know, my dearest teacher, that I am just like you?

My thoughts are warped and bent and wrong, and I need to let them out too.

But you, you callously talk and ramble, sarcastic insults sneered each day.

And each cruel word and judgemental thought, pushes me closer to slipping away.

Away to a place where nothing exists, with silence an eternity long.

But mercy, no! You couldn’t cause this! You’re a teacher. You’re never wrong.


But yes, my dearest, shrieking beast, at times you are so wrong.

Because we have things doing outside your room, that plague us all day long.

My friend just lost her parents, a divorce, what a shame.

And she couldn’t live up to your sky high ideals, for she was mentally lame.

Another friend of mine, who endured yours and all the screeching,

well, I guess I’ll see him again next week. I wonder the scripture they’ll be preaching.


We are people too, with feelings and lives. You are supposed to guide us and care.

But here you stand in front of us all, and scream and pull out your hair.

Because no one passed the test you wrote, on the subject you never taught.

So it could never be our fault to not know. Oh wait. It is, what a thought.

We need someone to help us along, not an over zealous preacher.

we crave someone who’s compassionate, strong and smart.


Someone Not-You as our teacher.



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