They don't actually care

my teachers never ask if i'm okay anymore. i stopped expecting them to when i stopped asking myself the same question.
i come home to a poverty stricken house. except, this is not my home. just a place i rest my home. i am seventeen, barely legal, with a 6 day a week job and bills i shouldn't have to pay for threatening to strangle me. and my teachers want to know why i didn't do the homework the night before?
you see, teacher, i wake up late every morning and fly across the room for scattered books and a pair of headphones that get me through the day. i breeze through school, an outsider uncomfortable in their own skin, hoping i didn't trick myself into thinking i had everything done. come to find out,
i never really finished the work at all.
i go home with just enough time to charge a dying phone,
not that anyone talks to me anyway,
and leave the house with a spare change of clothes so that when i walk home that night
my bones will not freeze in this too bruised skin.
i work a 6 hour shift, serving coffee and high cholesterol and get home after midnight.
and you wonder why i don't have my work the next day.
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my teachers stopped asking if i was okay.
i guess i never really answered in the first place.