Okay, so I am NOT a poet. But I did write a poem back in the days when I used to post on a site called Helium (www.helium.com if interested in checking them out). Basically, Helium.com it is one of those sites where you write articles and get paid based on a formula related to page views, ads, and whatnot. In general, it’s not a bad thing if you’re just looking to try writing online out (except you can’t freakin delete anything you submit!). The rating requirement, however, drove me nuts. You’ll see what I mean if you ever start writing on the site.
But I digress. One of the categories I decided to write in was a poetry section. The topic you had to write about in some form or fashion was high school reunions. I personally never attended my high school reunion (does anyone?) but my teenage former self was totally the person that just didn’t fit in anywhere. I think that actually describes how most kids in high school feel despite whatever label they’re attached to.
A Room Full of Jars
There’s the geek squad‘s official poster child and the captain of the cheerleading team.
They’re now happily married with a fluffy white mutt in a house by a stream.
The guy voted most likely to succeed stuffs envelopes between odd jobs every now and then.
He never actually said what he puts in them.
The Goth girl now sports blonde hair, wears anything but black, and is a lawyer these days.
And also a lesbian. Guess her Emo boyfriend and she parted ways.
Then there’s me. I wasn’t friends enough with math and science to be hailed a nerd.
And I was too socially awkward and shy to be one of the theater herd.
I never had a label to erroneously predict my future fate.
I was just one of the miscellaneous strange quiet high school inmates.
It dawns on me as I look around at familiar strangers and find myself again trying to blend in.
Our supposed marks or lack thereof during the four years don’t make us who we are and they didn’t define us then.
Those former titles are like stickers on jars left soaking in a sink full of soapy water all day.
Labels that seemed so permanent can peel if we put enough effort in to scratch them away.