Apparently it's wrong for the girl in the leather jacket to be the most innocent in the room
I don't mean she doesn't know bad things go bump in the night, and the day, and in every alley you look in
I mean she still believes there is good in the world
But apparently she can't think that
Because society has said that because she wears a leather jacket and is six foot tall she can't be innocent
What they don't know is the leather jacket is her coat of arms against the big bad world
It's the weapon that goes well with her height
The height and black leather are quite the pair that become her
But society also thinks that leather is synonymous with bad and bad must mean she's a liar
But the thing is she doesn't lie that often, only once in a blue moon
But they don't believe that to be true
Because apparently it's a lie too
Maybe this time it's not the leather
Maybe it's the makeup she wears everyday
Because that must be hiding something
It has to be a disguise
But the only thing it hides is a cup
In an ocean of her insecurities
So instead it might be her heavily eyelined eyes
The ones where she uses eyeshadow to shadow some of the storm in her eyes
Because people are afraid of the shadow of a storm they still see
She's found that they love it too though
People often love to stare at things they think are dangerous and beautiful
The kicker is the dangerous part
People stay away from that, whether it's really dangerous or not
So they stare and they talk behind her back
She knows this because people have told her
Weird thing is that she hasn't heard anything hurtful about her
Maybe it's okay though
Because momma always said children are to be seen and not heard
And I guess that's true because I haven't really been heard in a long time
Maybe it's all okay though
Maybe one of these days they'll recognize her name when they come across it in their magazine or news feed or whatever else they're reading
Maybe people will finally realize that everything about her is so much more than a leather jacket, her height, stormy-blue eyes, and blonde hair
Maybe they'll find out once and for all that blondes are smart too
They might discover this when they read one of her poems, or books,
Hear one of her quotes,
See one of her paintings or drawings,
Maybe even a sculpture or two,
When they hear one of her songs
Or one of the thousand other things she loves to do
They'll realize they saw her everyday and walked the same halls as her
Maybe even shared a class or two with her
Or maybe those won't be the things they realize
Maybe they'll see that those long legs carried her out of the small town
That everyone talks and dreams about leaving
But never actually get the chance to
It won't happen for two or three more years though
It's okay
It will just give you more time to learn my name
And realize that apparently this girl that you judged solely based upon her looks is so much more than that
