You'll preach responsibility until your face turns blue.
But when something has disappeared, who did it? Oh. Not you.
It IS my job to turn things in and do all of my work.
But when I don't, on your face creeps a tiny little smirk.
'It's not my job', 'I'm so busy' you cry to dad and mom.
We've all got lives, get over it and try to keep your calm.
I know I turned that paper in. Apparently you don't.
I've been called a liar, and stand for it I won't.
Stop insulting intelligence, cuz I've got dirt on you.
And if you don't' believe me, too bad because it's true.
Looking o'er our shoulders like we're doing something bad
When REALLY we are writing down assignments that we've had.
You're jumping to conclusions. That is dangerous for all.
Your screaming at us makes us feel as if we're one inch tall.
You need to find an outlet for whatever's bugging you.
Cuz we're not it, will never be, and that, dear sir, is true.
Sure, you're trying very hard, but we're just little kids
Ones whose imaginations really do not need your lids.
This could go on for ever, but finish it I will.
God listens to you all the time, let prayer be your pill.
You preach it all the time to us, I'd hope you would obey
Your own words and take the time to pray.
God does care, and I know it, just take him it in prayer.
Just give him it in prayer.
Difficult Teacher by Proh Crepitus
Poetry » School Rated: K, English, Words: 280, Published: 10/15/2004