Her soul was light, and bubbles

Flew from her mouth when she laughed.

When she walked, you could see the ribbons

Trailing from her fingers as she sang.

But looking back, I wonder:

Were those ribbons woven from fanciful delight

Or were they made of blood

Her very self being forced out of her hands?

Was she spinning in circles of laughter

Like a young child discovering snow

Or was she out of control

Unable to stop her dizziness

Begging for someone, anyone to hold her still?

I used to think she was tied to the queen of night.

That awful woman with talons

Sharp as the cruelest words

And heels sounding resolutely on the floor.

This girl carried with her always a book of lies

That the queen had chained to her wrists.

The book scorched and burned and killed

All the ones it didn’t like

Poisoning their minds with heaviness and guilt

Until they cared enough to purge their own existence.

But she, this girl, was different from the queen.

Even with her armor on

Even as she painted her skin every day

To match the pattern of darkness

As well as she was able,

You could still see the light shining through.

Dim, yes.

But there.

I realized her happy face was not a face at all

But a mask of placid stone.

Underneath, her features were soft as dove’s feathers

And they screamed of fear.

Her bow lips pressed thinly together

To push against the lump in her throat.

Today I saw the mask crack,

Split down the middle,

Like I’d imagine an iceberg

At the epitome of perfection

Would look as it crashed inevitably

Into the welcoming ocean.

She sat me down, her ribbons hanging sadly,

Forgotten and tattered on the floor.

And she stole Alice’s bottle right out of her hands.

She drank from that cruel flask, and right before my eyes

She began to shrink.

The bars imprisoning me were big enough to fit her, too.

And this girl, with her hair like fire

And her deep blue eyes turned a shallow green,

With fidgeting hands and impatient legs,

Removed every piece of armor

Until I saw, astonished,

That her face was the one I saw in the mirror.

She began to tell me her story.

And as she spoke

The book of lies she carried with her always

Only got bigger and bigger and bigger.

She reached to touch it with her dainty, ungloved hand

And pulled it back with a yelp, seeing it burnt to a crisp.

I could silence myself no longer.

How could you do this? I asked.

How could you pour that wretchedness

Into the empty minds of children waiting to be filled?

I see you. You are one of them.

Don’t you feel their pain

Hear their screams

Touch your own cheek to see tears

Matching their own on your face?

With her eyes trained on the door

She nodded slowly.

And showed me her scars.

They ran even deeper than my own.

I saw many of them had been put there by her own hands.

I didn’t comment.

The two of us sat in that tiny room

And shared the stories of our terror.

Both of us, trapped in our skin,

Realized how similar we were,

The schoolgirl and the teacher.

We both knew beyond a doubt

That one day

One day

We would rise up.

And no one else would feel this

This pain

Ever again.

We would make sure of it.

Why not now? I pleaded.

She shook her head.

She told me her hands were tied.

I looked down, and indeed they were.

But while the rope had been given to her

Before she knew how to speak

She didn’t seem to realize

That the knot was of her own making.

I know what it takes to shed your chains

I had done it long, long ago.

It’s easy to face demons,

Like the one I had bested with my mighty sword,

But it’s much harder to face your own-

And that is why I still dream of it and shake.

I looked at this sad, small girl

And realized how much smaller she was than I.

I bid her farewell and ran well away

My books a weight like pillows of lead

Bouncing on my back.

I felt a pain in my chest

And looked down to see a knife protruding from my heart.

I ripped it out, ignoring the blood that came.

I vowed to use it, and all this pain, as a weapon.

Now, in my chair,

Twirling that knife between my fingers,

I think of the Lorax.

Seuss was right when he said unless,

But you are a fool

If you believe he was talking about trees.