Stuff You Can't Say to Your Teacher

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I can’t tell Professor C that I’m not focused ‘cause I’m so anxious I don’t sleep

I can’t tell him that I hate the way I am and I’m dying to change

There’s no way he’s gonna understand the way my heart feels, let alone my uterus

It’s something everyone has to go through – so I just need to deal

I can’t tell him ‘cause he doesn’t care

 

There’s ongoing combat in my heart, my head, and my body

The kids at school don’t help at all

They pretend to be friends and take it all back as soon as yours is turned

I can’t tell Professor C that even my room isn’t safe

I can’t tell him that I’ve learned how to prevent tears

Just like I can’t tell him that things aren’t ok

 

I can’t let him know that my relationship sucks or that my family is disappointed

I can’t say that he has no idea that “a little white girl” has problems too

Maybe I should be grateful for what I do have but it’s hard when I feel so low

He won’t listen if I tell him it’s more than what he sees

This tough façade hasn’t helped with making friends – I don’t need anyone anyway

Everyone says, “It’s what’s on the inside that counts” but no one ever takes a look in

 

From trying in everything and succeeding in nothing

Mascara stains so many cuffs of sleeves and hems of t-shirts

But if he ever asked, I would shrug it off – not that he would ever inquire

I can’t say that I hate the structure of his class – that I don’t learn like that

I can’t tell him that every test gets harder and harder

As much as I try, no matter how many tutors I get, or how long I read the textbook,

How many practice problems I do – none of it helps

 

I can’t tell him that I can’t afford his three workbooks

It costs 200 big ones I just don’t have

Just because my parents have some money doesn’t mean I do

I’m the one who’s trying to make it through

I can’t say that I’m afraid that college is just a big scam

That I can’t figure out if it’s helping or hurting

 

I can’t explain to him that I wish I was the one who died in that crash

That it’s not fair how people love you after you’re dead

I can’t show him the scars on my wrists or the cuts on my legs

I can’t tell him that I am falling apart ‘cause his reply most likely? “Suck it up”

But what Professor C doesn’t know won’t hurt him – it’ll just hurt me

 

He’ll never know because I won’t say these things

He’ll never know because I can’t say these things

Guide that inspired this poem: 

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