As an adult I respect you,

As a person, not so much.

Not because of the way you dress,

Or because of the low grade you gave me

On the essay that I spent three weekends trying to write.

Not even because you moved me away

From the only people who are nice to me in class.

No, the reason I don't like you

All comes down to this:

You're moody.

You're mean.

You're mad (as in crazy and angry)

And many more words starting with "m."

 

Why are you so cynical?

Why are you so rude?

Why won't you answer the questions

That you claim are never stupid?

Who gave you the right to say any questions are stupid?

And what's worse of all,

Why do you blame us for your unhappiness when you clearly enjoy

Making all of us unhappy day after day?

 

You call yourself an educator,

A friend,

And a confidant,

Yet all you do is mock

And judge

And complain.

Yes, I get that you "have a low salary,"

And "don't need to be here,"

But this is what you chose to do

You're supposed to be my teacher,

You're supposed to lift me up.

So quit knocking me down,

Quit bullying my classmates, 

And find a reason to smile more.

You've said a thousand times that you could care less if we liked you,

But like it or not,

We're stuck with you and you're stuck with you and you're stuck with us.

So be our teacher.

Be our leader. 

Don't be cruel.

And for crying out loud, 

TEACH!