Heartbreak

Heartbreak

The heartbreak is palpable. In the defiance, in the disrespect, in the disruptions, in the confessions they let leak in the class.

The heartbreak is clear. In every failing grade, in every unreturned phone call home, in every outburst, in every tear-jerking revelation that comes to light.

The heartbreak is fresh. In every handwritten letter to a teacher to talk about past traumas, in every fight in the hall, in every shouting match with a teacher, in every detention, in every out-of-school suspension.

The heartbreak is real. In every gang starting in the bathrooms, in every cigarette confiscated, in every curse word yelled, in every new black eye, in every absence.

The heartbreak is breathtaking. In every report, in every email, in every kid sent to the office, in every failed lesson.

The heartbreak is striking. In every 12-hour day, in every nasty parent, in every meeting where you’re inadequate, in every statistic that says you’re failing, in every kid that you can’t teach around.

The heartbreak is rampant. In every time you think of quitting, in every time you lose your cool, in every time you have buddy room passes written before the class starts, in every time you realize your 60 credit hours of English classes won’t tell you what to say, in every time you must google how to pronounce a student’s name, in every time you say that someone should have told you.

The heartbreak is all of this.