Cicadas

I remember in high school

I always used writing as a way to

Express my emotions

Because I had a hard time expressing them

Outwardly.

So when I had a writing assignment,

I put a lot of feeling into that shit.

Hoping the teacher would

Love it

See my hard work

See my heart

Maybe even ask questions.

The day came that I got that

assignment back.

Graded.

Critiqued.

Picked apart,

“Incomplete sentences”

“Wrong tense”

“Sloppy”

Structural criticism at school was of course

Necessary.

But were my feelings still valid?

Makes me wonder.

Did they see?

Was I as small as I imagined?

I was only a cocooned bug at the time

Not knowing what I would be outside of my

Protective covering.

I wish I would have known

That I had the wrong instructions,

You know, being taught to be a cicada.

To follow the laws of science.

Only to come out of my

Cocoon

When I’m supposed to

Just like the others

Lemme tell you something.

I don’t

Even have

WINGS

And I’ve mastered how to

Do whatever I put my mind to.

Whether it be to walk.

To run

Long distances.

To swim

Or jump.

I’ll give it my best.

But tell me I can’t?

I’ll bet.