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leeaaun Dec 2022
not just only tell me
to stop hating my body
teach me
how to do it
saying is easy than doing
if you can't help then shut your mouth
Odd Odyssey Poet Jul 2022
The pools of eyes; like tears of a sea,
the virtue of dreams. Morals in the
pursuit of laurels.

Even with the strength of Hercules,
still weakened as only being human; in part.
In solitude of dark thought—a deathless
night, looms like a menace of juvenile desire.
Lust and confusion, a drudgery of chasing eyes.
Such a defiance of love: Clinginess of flesh wanting
flesh—vexations of our once selves.

We've all been young.

Nurture maturity, to teach those behind early,
for their grapes to be full in seasonal vines.

Teach 'em as due course,
as 'verly so, you've once been taught.
As a given,
an open hand of the gift of handing
down wisdom.
Robert Ronnow Mar 2022
Should I become a middle school math or English teacher?
Leave my bed early in the morning and return with test papers to grade.
With what authority will I persuade those kids to sit still and perform
      calculations and interpretations.
I won’t be allowed to teach A Good Man Is Hard To Find. Nope, it’ll be
      Catcher in the Rye, Lord of the Flies and Slaughterhouse Five. Novels
      that annoy.
Poems and math are magic. Words and numbers are things no one has
      ever seen or heard or touched.
But the administration keeps them separate. The curriculum’s
The kids are beautiful but combustible. When middle school lets out at
      the periapsis of Earth’s orbit, that’s the face of joy.

The purpose of school is to introduce us to the world’s innumerable
      wonders. The periodic table, World Wars I and II, Huckleberry Finn
      and Jim.
Once a gaggle of teenage girls bet whether I wore boxers or jockeys. I felt
      ambushed and unlucky. Also a bit afraid.
There’s little love lost between the students and the teachers. Expect to
      forget and be forgotten. Information.
I remember Mr. Killian my chemistry teacher. So boring about something
      I now find so interesting and important. He wasn’t boring; I was
I remember Mr. Christensen my history teacher. He was fat and funny but
      taught as little as possible. I was known to laugh so hard I cried.
I remember Mr. T my calculus teacher. He dressed everyday exactly like
      Gene Kranz in mission control. I was confused past help so he didn’t
I remember Tone Kwas my music teacher. He said I was the worst
      trumpet player he’d ever tried to teach and switched me to
      sousaphone. He was right but so what! Playing badly is the best
Hamna Sep 2021
𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨.
𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨?
𝘉𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘺 𝘷𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘴?
𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘺𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦?
𝘖𝘳 𝘰𝘣𝘴𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘬 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘴, 𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘴?
𝘚𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘐 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘭𝘴𝘦 𝘦𝘹𝘤𝘦𝘱𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵?

𝙄 𝙨𝙖𝙮 𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙙𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙥𝙨 𝙩𝙖𝙢𝙚 𝙢𝙚 𝙩𝙤  𝙩𝙧𝙪𝙙𝙜𝙚 𝙤𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙡𝙚𝙙 𝙥𝙖𝙩𝙝  𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙤𝙣.
𝙏𝙝𝙚𝙮 𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙢𝙚 𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙠 𝙤𝙣 𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙮 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙨.
𝙎𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙮 𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙥𝙖𝙨𝙨.
𝘼𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙧𝙞𝙘𝙠𝙡𝙚 𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙤 𝙢𝙮 𝙚𝙮𝙚𝙨.
𝙏𝙖𝙪𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙩𝙧𝙞𝙘𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙢𝙮 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚.
𝘽𝙪𝙩 𝙄 𝙧𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙢𝙗𝙚𝙧,
𝒢𝑜𝒹 𝒹𝑜𝑒𝓈𝓃'𝓉 𝒷𝓊𝓇𝒹𝑒𝓃 𝒶 𝓈𝑜𝓊𝓁 𝒷𝑒𝓎𝑜𝓃𝒹 𝒾𝓉𝓈 𝒸𝒶𝓅𝒶𝒸𝒾𝓉𝓎.
𝒜𝓃𝒹 𝐼 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓁𝒾𝓏𝑒,
𝐻𝒶𝓇𝒹𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓅𝓈 𝓉𝑒𝒶𝒸𝒽 𝓂𝑒 𝒽𝑜𝓌 𝓉𝑜 𝓁𝒾𝓋𝑒  𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒹𝑒𝒸𝑒𝒾𝓋𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓁𝒹.
This is the complete poem in response to my question: Do hardships make you stronger or weaker?
But as I said, they simply  "𝓉𝑒𝒶𝒸𝒽 𝓂𝑒 𝒽𝑜𝓌 𝓉𝑜 𝓁𝒾𝓋𝑒  𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒹𝑒𝒸𝑒𝒾𝓋𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓁𝒹."
hazem al jaber Jul 2021
Will teach you love ...

i will make you ...
drink my craziness ...
to ******* love ...
for you ...
to teach you ...
how love should be ...
when you are ...
between my arms ...
to let you feel so deeply ...
the fire of passion ...
that i get for you ...
while you yelling ...
and begging ...
for more...
to give you ...
the best that i can do ...

will teach you ...
sweetheart ...
how great to dive ...
into a passion's seas ...
with a madly lover ...
like me ...

just trust me ...
and hold your all parts ...
free only for me ...
and lets start ...
from your thirsty lips ...
those that i seek for ...

would you mind...
to allow my craziness ...
runs all over you ...

hazem al ..
Steve Page Jul 2021
The Red-Folk are well known to some, but less well known to others.  You see, the Red-Folk do their reddy-ness in the background with the smallest folk.  This means that bigger folk will only notice them if they have small folk friends.
The Red-Folk are quite distinct; I don’t mean their tomato redness, I mean their ability to fold themselves small.
Now, you may know that small folk are very used to legs and knees and big feet and are they are very, very good at winding their way through a forest of trousers and skirts to get to where they need to go.  But this can be tiring, and sometimes small folk misjudge the sway of a leg or a knee and bounce off them, falling back onto their bottoms.  This can sometimes be funny, but it is often painful and can spark small folk tears.  
So, when small folk find that the Red-Folk just love to fold their legs and knees away and come down to small folk level, you can imagine the sheer joy the small folk feel.
Some Red-Folk don’t last long because their legs and knees begin to ache and the small folk noise becomes too loud and the Red-Folk miss ‘Big Conversation.’  But there are some Red-Folk who are excellent at folding their legs and knees away and who love nothing better than small conversations with small folk.  You see they have discovered that this is where small and precious truths are first planted to later become stronger big truths and they have seen that this is also where small folk plant big love in the Red-Folk’s big hearts.
So, if you are looking for the Red-Folk, you need to look down to where the small important conversations are taking place with the small important folk.
[At church the children's workers wear red tee-shirts.]
Steve Page May 2021
They need a firm love
Not a weak love
Not a shy love
Not 'sorry, love'
But a firm, dependable,
over and above, sacrificial love
That'll never deprive them of
what they need the most of
- a untiring labour of love
from someone who gets up
and turns up to daily put up
with an occasional child-like
To all teachers - you're brilliant
Mikaela L Dec 2020
I sit on an aging sofa,
Facing an old-fashioned clock on the wall,
It's finally 3:00,
My therapist sits on a leather chair,
Looks down at her notes,
As if her scribbles had any relevance to my problems,
"Well, how's home?"
I answer the same questions,
"You have plans for the holidays, right?"
I lie,
I smile,
I try to be funny,
That's all I can do.

Truth is,
I've been bouncing from home to home,
My parents and their respective partners hate me,
"I got a teaching job,"
I don't know if I signed the contract because I love children,
Or because I needed to get a place of my own,
My last meal was a day ago, 10am to be exact,
"How's home?"
Is this a trick question?
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