I was once a kindergarten teacher,
And I wasn't terrific.
Heck, I was probably a showcase of "least friendly"
Or maybe the most "lacking motherly care"

I made mistakes.
I overlooked digging in the dirt
And encouraged childish behaviours.

I appreciated
Kids that built towers
Only to knock them down

I watched children trip
Take a tumble, then a somersault,
and I patted them on their ***** head and said,
At least they didn't break an arm.

But I had fans, somehow.
Fans that had me bartering for alone time.
If they could run the whole circle, I'd give them a push,
Next time they ran the gym.

And my fans were, somehow,
Genuinely fans.

Their sticky, germy smiles,
And the security blanket that was
Both my scolding and my handholding,
Made the work worth it.

Lately, for some reason,
I've been considering the possibilities of my own death.
Not at my own hands-but that of another.

Perhaps it's due to my least favourite movie, The Lovely Bones
And that as watching it,
I can feel physical revulsion and pain at how he lures her in.
How she asks to leave.
How she misses dinner.

Despite my own experiences and knowledge of predators,
I quite literally can't count the number of them
The number I've run into on my own-not as a child.

As an adult.
An adult where my parents were a continent away
And where I was targeted at opportune times and the middle of the day,
accurately mind you.
There's been to many times.

I was utterly alone.

It irks me that I was targeted, firstly.
But mostly, it bothers me that I was
Likely only saved because a guy friend
Or a boyfriend stepped up.

I couldn't begin to imagine what I'd accidentally cause,
Being a willing target.
I can't even try to understand the horror that could have occurred had another second to happen in broad daylight.

It'd only take a second,
And I hate it.

The kitchen?
A ridiculous container for all
The plastic utensils you'd need.
A spatula, tongs, weird fork thing?
Even a series of spice racks

The bathroom,
Holders for your toothbrush and paste
A caddie for all that shampoo and body wash
A rack on the back of the door for your towels

A shoerack
A laundry hamper
A series of picture frames and knickknacks
A few blankets
A set of decorative pillows

...so many pillows.
No one uses them!
We all just move them before sitting.
It's ridiculous.

But,
All of these things
Do a home make.

They're so incredibly inconsequential.
Clutter.

Yet, I dare you
Point me towards a home
For two or more
Which lacks these.

These are how you know
A life has been made together.

When I was younger
I once read a book,
That somehow connected with me.

It was bought by my mother
And
It was aptly named, What My Mother Doesn't Know

I'm quite sure my mother knew
Atleast most of what I was up too.
And I was all the better for it.

I still have the book,
I think I'll give it to my own child one day.

When I was little,
I was quiet and,
I towed the line.

But now I realise
a little too late
That I'm a natural.

I tow the line,
Ignoring what you've thrown
No matter how much it
Hurts or takes from me.

I'll tow the line.
It's what I was taught.
but I don't think this is what they meant

You can be high,
I'll be low.
I'll tow the line.

It's going to be finished,
The project will be completed.
perfectly.

Because no matter what it takes,
I will tow the line.

I can't
Seem to settle
For less.