History is full of dreamers, folded between the years like a dog-eared page

You'll recognize them when you find them

Scribbles in the margins, the spaces between words

You may have to hold a page up to the light to see a few

To see the lemon juice painting of broken hourglasses and frozen minute hands

To see anyone who was ahead of their time, claimed another victim of the fourth dimension

1811, Chawton, England, and there is a woman with a quill in her hands, writing furiously for readers, for her characters

For herself, more than any

She is drowning the critics' words out with her own, losing herself in her work, in her Lizzy's and Darcy's and Emma's

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a world in possession of readers must be in want of a writer, but Jane Austen died before her work became popular

She died before we realized she lived, because a writer is not a woman, and a woman is not a writer

1940, Bletchley Park, England, and there is a man standing in front of a machine, working furiously for himself, for his loved ones

For the world, more than any

He is drowning the critics' estimations out with his own, losing himself in his work, in his numbers and codes and secrets

In this year, he will break the enigma and effectively end World War II, saving an estimated 21 million lives

But Alan Turing died before his work was ever recognized

On June 7th, 1954, he bit into a cyanide filled apple and killed himself to stop the persecution he faced for being homosexual

Because apparently being gay cancels out saving lives, and the inventor of the computer is gone before he can save the world a second

2019, any small town, America, and kids are grasping onto their grades like lifeboats, studying furiously for their futures, for their prides

For themselves, least of any

They are drowning the critics' doubts out with their own, losing themselves in their work, in their tests and projects and quizzes

Kids are falling through the cracks and the world is a blind eye

How many genuises have been lost to the wind because they've been told to stop dreaming so big?

To collapse their universes into ones more palatable?

The average modern high school student has the same anxiety levels as a psychiatric patient from the 1950's

Our brains are bursting at the seams, because Jane Austen is only ever taught in relation to her work, not in her struggle as a woman in the 19th century

Because Alan Turing is only ever found in whispers, his fight as a homosexual in the '40's long forgotten

Because we aren't allowed anything but success stories

Because we pretend the ugly never happened as we go through life thinking we are the only ones who ever failed

There is a tragedy to genius

An unspoken rule that remains unspoken, but we are done being the collateral casualties in someone else's war

We have been fighting on the front lines for centuries

History is full of dreamers, so stop stuffing them between the pages

It is time to rewrite the textbooks

To reveal every footnote-afterthought-last-minute hero

And this time

We'll get the details right