Kids Like Us

To the teacher I had for four days and ten seconds:

I used to adore you.

I used to have such respect for you.

I used to see you with such dignity.

But when I told you I could not overwhelm myself with colossally high standards, you ignorantly remarked “…oh you’re one of those kids.”

Those kids.

Did you mean the kids who haven’t had their lives handed to them.

The kids who have learned to work hard without sacrificing their sanity.

The kids who aren’t generally accepted in society and are gasping for breathe above the waves.

Because yeah, I classify under that list.

But you weren’t referring to my list.

You were referring to the handful of us with dreams and no step stool.

For kids like us things don’t come easily.

For kids like us it is expected that we effortlessly rise above the rest.

 

We are veterans without the parade.

We are graduates with the diploma.

We are injustice without activism.

We are sinking deeper into the pit and blending into the kids who don’t have to try, who don’t have to struggle, who don’t have to care.

 

But you wouldn’t know anything about that.

Because you’re just one of those teachers.

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