A mentor

One, or something who shapes you

Who defines you

Who carves pathways that engrain into your brain

That you follow, follow, follow

When the world gets dark and things just don’t feel right

That you grasp onto

Like an old man leaning on his worn out wooden walking stick

My mentor?



Not just one, but all

Teachers who realize the power of the most powerful tool in the world


Teachers whose classrooms doors remain open, like church doors at midnight

Just begging for you to come in and ask just one, just one question

Teachers who are truly passionate about their subject

Who want you to learn and be just as excited as they are about the difference between a proton and neutron

Teachers who days, weeks, years after you leave their class

What they have shown you, taught you, still remains in those pathways

Worn, trampled over and well used

Teachers, teachers are my mentors  


This poem is about: 
My community


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