a poem | a poetry collection by rareraconteur

Her Lessons

It is not the way we were created

but rather the way we have created ourselves

To take criticism

and stares

and shouts

and whistles

Without so much as batting an eyes

despite the fight in our hearts

and the fire in our eyes

Because the greatest lessons we learn do not

come from a syllabus

But from the strange old men on the subway

and our uniform skirts that perhaps were

just a bit too short

or the star athlete

or the boy next door

and all their exclamations

But she

Where has She learned her lessons?

For darkness and fear snarls in her face, and she

stares back at it with calm bravery and silent determination

She is the one who looks into dark waters and dives headfirst

She who lives without fear of the world

Where has she learned?

Who taught her?

Or maybe you don't want to know

Maybe you do not want to see what she has

experienced

Maybe you do not want to see the darkness

of her past

or how it lingers behind her eyes

Perhaps her heart can no longer beat steadily

So instead it beats for you

for your freedom

for your safety

for your courage

for your inspiration

She is strong and beautiful

and harsh and gentle

and irrational and logical

and joyful and vengeful

and lonely and caring

Because she has taken her lessons

though not by her own choice

And she has known each trait, each part to

its full

And she did not learn from a syllabus