"Be tough."
"Get it done."
"It's just a burn."
Words spoke by instructors,
Just like a high and fancy conductor
"Jump through hoops"
All these instructions send my thoughts in loops
I'm not my welds, firm and strong
Yet everyone believes it so, why are they all wrong?
Welders aren't welds, this is true
But all believe it, all but a few
Crying out on the silence here
Is this really to be my career?
I thought it was fun, awhile back
But now ever class feels like an attack
Boy, girl, they always pick the former
Welds hotter, always warmer
Better, faster, "tradition" they say
Why did I as a girl think I could play?
This game of metal, heated and cooled
My simple self was such a fool
I can't make a difference in this man dominated world
My talents lay elsewhere, off somewhere furled
I don't know what I'm meant to do
I just know I can't do it here with this crew
YOU ARE READING
Half Truths and Hidden Memories
PoetryA place of sorrow, of fear, of pain. A place of joy, of hope, of love. A place to cry out in fear. A place to shout in joy. A place to be myself, and hope not to be judged for who I am.
