If I had known

When I sent you out of class, because

You couldn’t sit still in your seat,

because

you can’t sit in a chair like a normal human being, because

You can’t stop talking to everyone around you

Calling them rude names

Like you’re desperate for everyone to see you

Just to see you

If I had known that your mom was going to pull up to the school

And find me in the hallway

Saying, “I just want to apologize to my daughter. I took care of it,”

And then show me the battered old belt in her hand

I would have just let you be.

Keep writing her name next to yours. Don’t you stop.

It doesn’t matter if we find out what color the walls of the school used to be when the custodial staff scrubbs off the graffiti

Never give up on her.

There are poems I want to sneak into your backpack

When you aren’t looking

I just feel like angry feminist slam poetry with butch lesbian energy would help you so much right now

Especially on the days when your skin is still hurting from the day before.

And if I didn’t know about the way it is at home for you then I might risk it.

Don’t stop writing her name.