I used to be a teacher,
As sharp as a well-made knife,
That was meant to be used roughly,
Every day to take a little punishment.
Tempered and sharpened over the years,
Hardened and indestructible,
But at the same time, flexible.
Slicing through problems,
So gently and delicately.
Like they were almost nothing.
I used to be a teacher,
Able withstand the abuse from students.
That’s part of a teacher’s job description.
You take it and if it wears you down,
You sharpen yourself,
And go back to work again.
But long have they been,
Desiring my absence.
All their efforts,
Focused on this task.
They missed no opportunity,
To sabotage.
Contaminate.
Humiliate.
To wear down my former sharpness.
They’ve done it.
They win.
I’m nothing but a useless dull blade,
That finally broke in half,
But I used to be a teacher.
Random Misanthrope 
:hugs:
Ah, but you will always be a teacher in some form or fashion. It’s the curse of the profession; deriving such joy from helping others grow and flourish.
The question is: is this burn-out from a bad year/bad crop of students or total burn out? The million dollar question. It could very well be the former (I hope so). You have inspired far too many. We all know that to be true.
Love you.
Thank you for your kind words, Kang. I’ll tell you the story in private messaging. I don’t want to say too much out in public.
So sad. You need a new kitchen to be placed in Lady Knife.
Thanks, Ken. I think I’ve known that for a while now.