A teachers heart is one of learning.
Of constant modification.
Lending pieces of it at the sound of a child's voice.

What is not seen  
Are the broken parts.
The times when my heart falls out of my chest.

My child, I am sorry
My child, you don't deserve it
My child, here is safe

A heart of protection.
Showing each student their worth
Value more valuable than the words of this poem

Without you my child
My heart
Would simply

collapse

Finally I have arrived,
here a place where I am free,
from the stresses behind me.

There is new adventures here,
new pains,
new loves,
or at the very least different ones.

Somehow when I come here,
I lose all my tolerance for my ghosts.
They linger,
and very rarely,
they break through.

When they do,
when they visit,
I feel as if I am a child.
New to the pains of this world,
unknowing of tolerance,
skin,
as thin,
as paper.

When they get to close,
when I have to face them straight on,
I feel as though someone has doused my fire,
and I'll hibernate,
until it passes.

Studying,
all night long,
learning and trying,
tutoring with patients,
and so it grows...

Saving myself,
protecting me,
form others,
from myself,
and so it grows...

Laughing at nothing,
as we lay in darkness,
pushing us closer together,
and so it grows...

Naps,
oh the naps,
taking time for ourselves,
alone in company,
and so it grows...

As it blossoms,
as it strengthens,
intertwining,
and oh how it grew.