The Forest, The Field & This Great Sadness

Art is life, said some washed up wonderwoman. I wrote three lines for that in seventeen syllable mishmash, and they called me an artist.

Heather-Mariah, Artist/Poet/Musician/Wanderer. From The rain state.

Dear Stranger/Relative and/or Colleague:

I don’t want to talk about school.

I’m in a weird transitional point where I go to college, I’m transferring to a University, I don’t know if I’ve gotten in yet,
and it kind of gives me an ulcer to think about.

So, I don’t want to talk about school to you, person that I just met.

I don’t want to tell you my future plans,
what I want to major in,
and
I don’t want to talk about homeschooling.

Yes, I’m fine, I learned a lot.
I was socialized.

Nah, I’m pretty okay about missing prom. Yeah.
I didn’t do school in my pajamas, I didn’t do school in any conventional manner, so comparing my self-taught, footloose education to grade school is ridiculous, and you’re not going to understand.

Ask me about what I love, what makes me tick, what inspires me.
Ask me about my hobbies, my pursuits.

Maybe we can talk about literature
or music
or you, even.

But when I meet you, and my education is the most important thing to you, I get bored.
Where I went to school, when I went to school, how I went to school: it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t define me. But- it may help you fit me neatly into a little box

and,

I suppose that’s comforting, to you.

  1. beatnik-in-blue posted this