where she feels inspired.
days where her students respond
days where their circumstances
is a little less obvious
but then there are other days.
days where her students withdraw
young eyes cloud over
old beyond their years
days where the drive to work is more jarring
the stench of streets lined with litter more pungent
the taste of hopelessness in the air more acrid
the sight of bodies with broken spirits more depressing
the sound of silent defeat more deafening
days where she cant help but wonder:
what the fuck is she doing?
what is the point?
is there one?
why is the world like this?
what. the. fuck. is. she. doing.
and on these days
the despair is almost catching
the frustration almost overwhelming
the light at the end of the tunnel almost extinguished
this great tragedy impossible to ignore