Miss

I love being Miss,
On good days and bad days.
I love the voices that call my name,
Even when I wish they would just stop talking,
Just for once.
I still love it.

I love hearing the first Miss in the morning,
Probably too quickly after the bell rings because they're running up the stairs.
I love hearing them putting words of kindness into use,
Seeing them practicing compassion and passion;
I love seeing their becoming.

I just purely love it.

No, all days are not easy.
And don't even argue about getting summers off.
Sometimes these kids drive me to actual tears
Because I feel like I just can't get through,

Because I care so much about their futures,
About their biggest dreams and hopes.
Sometimes I think I care more than they do.
But still I care about them, and push myself to be better.

I push because I want them to have every opportunity.
I want them to realize what their passion is,
Have the skill set to attain it,
And the strength to rise back up after each failure, resilient.

Yes, it's exhausting.
Literally like running a marathon everyday,
Every afternoon,
And every evening when I plan at my kitchen table.

But every day I wake up to become Miss again,
Try again,
And start again.

Because if there's one thing these kids need most
It's someone to believe in them.
Someone to hold them accountable for all that they are.
Someone to encourage them.
And someone to help them shake off their mistakes and persist.

Everyday I roll out of bed before the sun
Down my ounces of coffee
Haul my 15lb tote bag to school
And pinch myself because my job is my dream.