Find 3 words to describe you:
I looked at the assignment staring back at me from the board. Fairly simple actually, only three words, adjectives. 3 words to some up Aubrey Conith. Not hard, I have many words to describe myself.
But, I put down what my new teacher Mrs. Doblin was expecting of me:
Funny, Hardworking, Energetic
After each kid finished writing their list they had to use a strip of scotch tape to stick it around the room. So now my ugly lies are plain for everyone to see.
Funny, Hardworking, Energetic
Today we had an assembly about the dangers of bulling. How kids should report it if we see it and help our peers when faced with a "Bully". While out poor inspirational speaker. Virginia something-or-other started talking about the hardships she had faced as a youth, 20 or some odd years ago. I could have laughed. Virginia's audience was nonchalantly texting each other from the bleachers. LOLing and IDKing right under her nose while she talked about her treacherous childhood.
Poor, poor Virginia didn't know what bullying of the 2000's really meant. Bullying is silent, it's rejection. Bullying is internal, kids beat themselves up long before an actual fist fight has time to up rise. Bullying is the sound of your fork, scraping across your plastic tray in the silence around you. The empty chairs at your table staring back from all sides. Bullying resides in the color of your skin and the shame you feel as you put on your non-designer brand shirt and look at your pathetic reflection. Bullying is the no new messages scroll from the screen of your phone and the quiet but still audible laughs of those around you referring to you, a person they can't even bother to get to know, but is at the butt of every joke. But, poor Virginia doesn't know that, and she keeps talking.
Oreo; black on the outside and white on the inside.
There it is. In plain English, me summed up in 10 words. But I can't be summed up in ten words, or 20, or a hundred, let alone three. But, there I am in all my glory, an outcast in all trades, how sad is that?
Boxes: the world, people, are separated into boxes.
Black boxes, White, Hispanic ones. Despite what we're told these boxes are rarely dumped on their sides and mixed together. Sometimes though, something will climb out of a box and dare to escape, only to find that the walls of the other boxes are too high to climb. The contents stare down, some wave, some laugh, but all it seems are too afraid to send down a rope. So the other rebels and I sit waiting for the day when courage rises above the fear.
Isn't it sad, how I rummage around on the book shelves in Dawson Public Library, searching for love stories, how I love to hear my favorite authors rave about perfect white girls who find perfect white boys who fall in love with them and protect them. How their cliché romances unfold and the fairytale ending always leaves me feeling lonely and uncomplete. Where's my prince charming, my fairy god mother?
Well, bipity bopity boo.