The Teacher and The Criminal

I heard that line from that movie with the teenagers at Saturday school. You know the one about the brain and the princess and the basketcase. Great ending to an awesome film, one I spent my childhood devouring. It reminded me of you, the way you used to call yourself an outlaw, a criminal. You took that ideal and molded yourself to be just that. We have these perceptions about who we are and then end up becoming, twisting, into these formations of roles and identities we think we should be. I wanted to be a teacher and a wife and a mother. I’m two of these yet I don’t know if it was me who did the dreaming. Was it society or teachers or parents who told me this is who I am? I’ve never seen a marriage succeed and I swore I’d never do it and I did it because my aunt was dying and I owed it to her. And I cried in my car every day before because I knew I’d be losing you all over again. Which is why I write these poems and these words so that I can find my way back to who I really am. I knew who I was with you. Your fingers guided me and I could see the angel hidden in your outlaw. Now we are just a teacher and a criminal trying to deny the people who made us strong.

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