Broken gangster child

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(A first-year teacher teaching in an underprivileged school)

I see your broken home
Like your broken English
And your broken school bag.

I do pity you
Believe it or not.
I know no pity you seek.
For you need to be strong
At all times.

I see you at break time.
Dreadlocks
Grey socks
Hustling for “a two-rand”.

I see you don’t understand
The language of no fists
Gangsterism the classroom
Mannerism.

I see you only respond to harsh words
Tough love, they call it?

“Mam” I am to you.
And you greet me with a smile.
But you do not need me.
And I laugh at the desire I had
To be the change.
I think you changed a part of me.
I think I am a little more gangster, too.

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