Poets are prophets
But in Sunday School I thought I’d hate to be Jesus -
The teachers on the playground are never there when you need them,
And kids’ ears
to listen between the lines and hear,
I can’t even hear myself think.
We are taught so young how to be polite.
So pretty girls become voiceless,
And I know too many women who have
Out of plastic bags and
Smiles out of shot glasses and
within themselves so
their voices would always stay
But at birth I contracted a serious case of word ebola
And at recess I played leapfrog with the words in my head.
And I’m never going to stop yelling now,
Because life isn’t over until you die
And we live most of it
Vivian Underhill lives in the mountains of Colorado and spends most of her time outside. She’s had words knocking about in her head since she can remember, and being an introvert, the written word has always been her favorite mode of communication. She loves snow, dark coffee, and feminism. vivianunderhill.wordpress.com