A teacher left yesterday.
She left a note in sprawling cursive on the board
Saying “you are great girls, but life happens”
Code for: this isn’t what I signed up for
Code for: the hell i’m going through ain’t worth the dividends.
When you found out, you cheered
Quickly shushed and having the grace to look remorseful
You said “i mean, she was too soft”.
Why do we have to be hard to get your attention?
Preparing for battle, helmet against the
Thoughts that tell us we suck at this, that we make no difference.
Breastplate guarding from the arrows of disrespect and disdain?
This is one long metaphor about contributions from self to our own inequality/
Bad enough that the building leaks, that mice reside within its walls
That antiquated tampon machines painted shut still chillin’ in the bathrooms
As heralds to how long these walls have stood.
Bad enough that bars crisscross windows from the outside and half of
The windows house bolts to keep the bad guys out.
These are the things we can’t control
The rolls of dice, the unfortunate of luck
“The price on the menu of attending a city school”.
But what of the typeset on the bathroom stall?
BICTH written in robotic text?
What of the throwing of hands and the insults disguised as greetings?
What of the taking pride in making people cry?
What of the mistreatment of those stalwart and crazy in love enough to teach you?
You are inhabitants of a world where your zip code and your melanin gives others
Reason to hate you
At the very least, reason to assume they know you
You MUST be handled roughly. It is all you know. You don’t have feelings.
In the classrooms down the street they are referred to as “friends”,
In singsongy voices full of pride and sugar
In here, your friends call you dummy without flinching.
Those with a birds eye view think that you are savage, as are your friends,
As is your family. You are step above beast.
We tell dogs to heel. We order you to sit.
Believe me when I say it shouldn’t have to be like this.
Who looked at you and decided that you are incapable of reason?
That you don’t deserve logic? That you are beyond love?
Worse yet, when did you start to believe it too?
When someone doesn’t believe that they can handle your fire, let them go.
But mourn a little bit at the flower that didn’t get to grow.
Get a little angry that people go in and out of your life like
Plastic horses on a carousel. At your age, unfortunately loss feels familiar.
But do not rejoice. Accept, but do not congratulate.
You are worth so much more than ephemeral and sometimes.