The other day I was met with a question that I didn’t quite have an answer to.
In the middle of class, they said “Who are you?”
Now this sounds a bit strange, seeing as I had been
Attending this class since god knows when
But you see, in sociology, we were studying
This thing called “master status” defining
The way we define ourselves.
So the teacher asked everyone, receiving answers like
“student” “sister” or “friend”. They were all so alike.
That it made me ponder, what I would be.
Because, there is a LOT to me.
To say I’m unique is just a nice way to call
me a freak, but with all that I am, I’m not much at all.
Friends say that I’m crazy
My mom calls me lazy
And when it comes to my dad, well, that’s kind of hazy.
The girls in the back of my geometry room may
pass notes with words like slut, whore, or gay.
But to let the words that fly from their
Tongues like knives block words like rare
Kind, and nice. That would be a crime
I’m not much of a jock or a nerd or a geek
because I don’t watch Star Trek and I don’t speak
elvish or cling-on or football too well
but I will be damned if I can’t tell
the difference between pumpernickel and rye
Or recite the first 63 digits of Pi
I’ll spare you the rest, but trust me its great.
Maybe someone would choose to call me
A baker, a singer, a writer but he
Wouldn’t know the hours I spend
Talking with the girl who just needs a friend.
Because I know what its like to feel empty inside
To be looking for someone or somewhere to hide.
So maybe you’d say that I’m broken or bent
But with the scars on my arms, that won’t make a dent.
I’ve walked through the depths of hell and back
And come out alive. So no I won’t cut you slack
For letting the word slip “G-A-Y”
Because what you think is a joke, I know makes him cry.
What I see as strong you might see as “bitch”
But that lecture you got wasn’t a glitch.
I’m not the kind to just sit by
In a class where everything is going awry.
If the teacher won’t give you the sharp words you need
Then I sure as hell will. Because you need to read
Between the lines to find the answers in life
If you don’t I swear to you it cuts like a knife.
So label me as bossy, stuck up and rude
But lets be honest, because I’m not in the mood
To sugar coat dog shit and call it a cake
You’re not what you eat. You are what you make.
I make crying girls smile
And lift up their heads, and once in a while
I make pie for my neighbor to brighten his day
I make my sister laugh when I say
“What the devil is going on here” like Snape
I make people whole with kind words and tape.
But in the end what I said when the teacher asked
“Who are you” was much more meaningful, and much less vast.
After thought after thought it occurred suddenly
That you define you. You don’t define me.
I guess it was always going to be
That my “master status” is just being me