Theme For Mrs. G
I am sixteen, born and raised in Pueblo
I went to school here since the age of 5
From Sierra Vista, to Skyview, to Pueblo West High.
Down the street is my home
Where I live with my mother, my father, and my brother.
I pull into my driveway, bounce into the house,
Through the kitchen, down the stairs to my room
I sit down at the desk in the corner, computer keys under my fingertips,
And, as I was told, write the things I feel.
How am I supposed to know what to write—
As I am just a child.
I reach to the back of my mind, for the things I experience.
I can hear the wind blowing outside, in the quiet town of Pueblo West
This wind, a constant, has become a part of me.
This town is quiet, but for the occasional siren, and dogs barking.
The prairies around look barren to me. Yes, me.
You see, I like to sing, to dance, to fantasize,
About the life I’ll lead in adulthood.
I like to go to Downtown Pueblo, buy a drink and observe the things around me.
Of course I am naive as any 16 year old is expected to be,
But that doesn’t mean my writing must be so.
I can still write true about the things I feel
A child’s experiences are too often invalidated.
The adults in my life, they’ll tell me I don’t know love.
They’ll say I don’t know what it’s like to grow and change,
Or to experience responsibility
True as it may be, my experience is different than theirs
Though, as not a child, but a human being, I say
Any experience I have, any emotion I feel,
Is as real and as valid as any.
I still grow, and change, and love,
I still am responsible.
Even though they’re older,
Wiser, more assured,
They live no more true.
