Two Lessons

A friend of mine recently asked if I would write something for her to use to perform for a scholarship pageant, and said that it could be centered around identity. So after finishing one poem, I wrote a whole different one. Sometimes it doesn't come out right the first time. 

Fingers crossed that my friend wins this scholarship whether she decides to use this poem or not! If she doesn't want to use it, well, here it is for you all to read anyway:

Two Lessons

“Be yourself’ is one of the first lessons you’re taught

when you finally figure out that there’s more

to the world than peanut butter-jelly sandwiches and

bedtime stories—so you ask,

“How?”

And honestly, no one is quite sure.

When you were young, it was easy—

ask someone to play on the monkey bars,

give them the milk you didn’t want, tell

them you sometimes fall asleep with your

socks on; not once did you have to

figure out who you were because

everything that you needed to know was

right in front of you:

your favorite color crayon

your blue-pale lunchbox

your purple and pink striped pencil case

the “Love, Mom” note at the bottom of your book bag

and the careful cut of your bangs.

Being yourself as a kid was simple,

like crying when you fell off your bike

because you no longer needed the training wheels.

Suddenly, like your mother snapping

her fingers, it no longer mattered how

much milk you shared with someone—

in order to be yourself,

you had to know who you are.

So you try to figure it out, try to weave

the details of your skin and remember

how you felt the first time you kissed someone

or what it was like when you were so

angry you couldn’t feel your palms.

You dance through the story

of your life like you’re someone

else telling it—

but maybe that’s not the point.

You and I, we’re constantly trying to figure out

this particular path we are on—trying to

understand if it’s right or wrong.

Maybe we’re not supposed to know who we

are yet; maybe we won’t know until

we feel the rip of a hurricane or hug someone

we’ll never see again. Perhaps when we lose

a parent we’ll understand who we are beneath

those carefully cut bangs. Maybe we’ll finally

know when a tear falls at the end of a book, or

when someone says “I love you” for the very

first time.

“Be yourself’ is the first lesson.

“How?” we ask.

Honestly, no one is quite sure yet.

But the second lesson

is to remember

that we’ll

figure it out eventually.