An open letter to teachers
I love learning
You make think that’s odd considering the blank look I have on my face every lesson
But it’s true
However when you put me in a room of thirty other kids I don’t get along with
Or don’t like learning too
It kinda kills the mood
Whilst learning definitions is important and I understand
You’ll forgive me for looking out of the window for a few minutes before tuning back in
You’re just as bored as me I know
But of course you’ll never let it show
After all
Your class is the most important of them all
Thirty minutes of homework a night at least
I study 6 other subjects
Each of them requiring at least thirty minutes too
That’s three and a half hours of work a night
Plus eight hours of school
That’s a twelve hour work day
So you’ll forgive me for yawning in your class
Afterall I stayed up til 12am the night before doing the work you set me
No of course not
How dare I yawn in your lesson?
That’s right it is incredibly rude
It is my fault I stayed up so late the night before
Doing work that you set me
How dare I?
I apologise

I love learning
But I don’t like sitting in a room of 150 other kids doing an exam
Spending three nights before fitting into my head all that I could cram
So I could have you stand over me and watch me as I write
Or the giant dreaded clock counting down from 100 to 0
Each minute going faster as I struggle to calculate how many times 0 goes into 100
Asking a question that can’t be answered
“You won’t be able to ask questions in real life”
That’s odd because my work place embraces asking questions
On the bottom of every sheet saying ‘ask the manager if you don’t know how to do these jobs’
But that’s not the real world
Part time work is not the real world
Flipping burgers at Maccas is not the real world
But it seems pretty real to me

I love learning
When I was 8 loved to do maths
Triangles and squares and circles it all came naturally
Then you started implying that maths was a boy’s area
That only boys do well and boys can succeed
I lost that love
Took a left turn at maths and English lane
Whether that was the best or worst choice I’ve ever made I’m here now
A poet who can count to 100 in threes languages but can’t make sense of the letter x
What’s it doing there?
Isn’t maths just numbers?
Are English and maths crossing over?
No
X and represents everything and 1 all at once
Just like how the conch symbolises law and order?
No
It’s just a number
A number that needs to be worked out
Ten lines at least to work out x
A million different solutions and trial and error will not be one
It’s the cheat’s way out
The girl’s way out

I love learning
My maths teacher taught me to love maths again
My English teacher taught me English was not just a constellation
My drama teacher taught me drama is so much more than the stage
But maybe this is all too late
Because when I’ve spent my life waiting to fall in love with maths again
My love for maths was lost
My love for learning was lost
My drive is lost
I love learning
But not as much as I used to

I am feeling something
A lot of something
From love to lust, to hatred to disgust
Disgust in how you looked at me with your beautiful eyes
Disgust in how you treated me, ignoring me time after time
Disgust because I do not care, I just want you near
I want you here, I want you close and I want you now
I miss you and I am disgusted that I do

Nobody’s home
Your loud desperate knocks fall silent on empty hallways
Echoing off the closed up doors and windows
Nobody’s home
You try again
One knock, two knocks, three
Growing more desperate as you try to see if someone’s home
But everything falls silent
The echoes dyeing within seconds
No footsteps coming to greet you at the door
Nobody’s home
Your attempts fall flat as they reach the battered up hallway
But the sound doesn’t reach much further
The dog doesn’t bark
The cat doesn’t dare make a single step
Nobody’s home
Now the knocks become louder and louder
More desperate as you try to hear something more than unanswered echoes
Louder and louder
Drawing the snooping neighbours in
Peeping over their tall fences trying to see if you’ll be let in
Starting whispered discussions wondering why you are there
Are you there to collect money?
A cup of sugar or something more?
Their conversations staying quiet
Their ears stay open seeing if they can hear one more desperate knock
Money passed around the fences
Betting on what you came for
Coming to collect a long lost child?
Or just saying hello?
None of these neighbours will ever know
But their ears stay open
Their mouths begin to close as they hear one last desperate knock
A knock that yet again falls silent on empty hallways
Echoes bringing back the sounds of what was
And what will never be
A knock that brings back years of memories
You’ve heard this before
And yet here you are standing at her door waiting to hear it once more
One last knock for the crazy desperate man
Now he knows that nobody is home
There won’t be footsteps there to answer him
The dog won’t bark
The car won’t awake to see what’s happening
But he knocks again
Bringing back the wave of memories
Trying once more to smell the sweet smell of her
Cookies on a cold day
The smell of a sprinkler on full blast on the hot ones
The touch of her
Her face
Her face that not for one day has left his memory
Every day he remembers her
Remembering what once was
And what will never be
And he does that happily
For he knows now that his desperate knocks will only echo back silence
Bouncing on walls and doors that should be his
Polished door handles
Immaculate house
That fluffy dog to greet him when he comes home
The neighbours begin to leave
There’s nothing much more to see here
Something much more interesting must be happening on TV
Money is handed back and conversation falls quiet
Doors slamming, windows banging, kids shouting
Sounds that used to be so familiar are now distant memories
The man takes in one last breath
A soft knock
A quiet knock
So he can know that he did not leave without a fight
He turns and spins and decides to leave
Nobody’s home
That what he thought
Until he saw a car pull in
A car that just may let him in