Halcyon

the rumour has it

oh, haven't you heard?

the rumour has it
she has too much attitude
not the loud, charming, attractive kind,
the dangerous kind.
the kind that reads and remembers,
doesn't laugh at silly jokes,
questions the subject
when subtly insulted.
oh, she's so intense.

the rumour has it
that she is brilliant
not the good kind,
the awful one,
threatening boys
with their puny intelligence.
they say she thinks too much,
asks questions in the wrong rooms,
uses words like she owns them,
and has a face that could make
men renounce love.

the rumour has it
that she's difficult.
by difficult they mean
she notices patterns.
by patterns they mean men.
by men they mean power.
they whisper she's intimidating,
as if intellect were a posture,
as if knowledge stood
with its arms crossed.
they say don't get involved
she'll correct you,
she'll outgrow you,
she'll see through you.

the rumour has it
she'll end up alone.
with a face like hers,
she'll end up with a sad boy
who realises far too early
he made the wrong choice—
that she was too sharp
to be held gently.
oh, dear lord, he'll love her
until she speaks back,
then throw her heart
to the floor,
making intellect
a social offence.

the rumour has it
even the girls hate her
don't call her to parties,
outings, trips.
they laugh at her intelligence,
tell her boys like uncomplicated girls,
girls they aren't intimidated by.
and when questioned,
they call her a loser,
say she'll never catch a boy
who could love her
for her stupid, effin' brains.

well—
the rumour has it.