my professor told me lies

i entered your classroom with dreamy eyes and ready hands.
my soul was full of stories just waiting to be scribbled down,
TRUE stories just wanting to be let out.

but you, my professor, you told me lies.

as i sat there quietly in front of twenty other people, you told me that this is how
my story
HER story
would sound better.
how it should be realistic,
should be real.
because "statistics" say and "how many girls choose that method?" and "make this poem more REALISTIC."

but were you there when SHE grabbed that weapon?
did you discover HER red blood staining the carpet?
when HER family and HER friends saw HER white face laying in that casket, did you hold THEIR tears in your hand?

REALISTIC YOU SAY?

i gave you realistic,
you wanted a lie.

i won't tell lies.