Teacher. Oh, Teacher.
Across the room you scan with your eyes,
Somone to call on it's always a surprise.
But there's one thing you don't know,
As you look to and fro.
That every child has their own story,
But you see none of their glory.
You see him there and call him a loner,
nothing more than another dumb stoner.
If you saw what I saw it would be plain,
He is smarter than you and I all the same.
You eyes dart away to choose someone else,
And you turn to the girl who only sees herself.
She stares in that small mirror and you call her conceited,
I see a girl whose confidence is all but depleated.
You turn to the hand that is erect in the air,
A wrong answer never comes from that chair.
But I see the need to be more than accepted,
Everyday he arrives and is more than tormented.
All of the sudden you turn and your eyes meet mine,
You point at me as if it were a sign.
I stand up and scream at the top of my lungs,
"Can't you see that your eyes are worse than guns?"
You see what you want to see,
Not what we each can be.
Teacher. Oh, teacher.
Open your eyes.