because of their inability to understand
what happens when you change the
variables in the equation for a parabola.
The ones who have spent too many years
feeling like they're breaking their heads over
a math problem the rest of class did in
a matter of two minutes.
The ones who feel misunderstood,
feel like they've mastered the art
of being a wallflower.
Because you see, I might not
get stoichiometry,
but do you get
how to write a piece of poetry
that will make your father cry?
I believe in many types of intelligence.
And if there is one thing I know, it's that
you cannot narrow down the word 'smart'
until it means 'to be good at math and science',
because the girl over there,
with shooting stars behind her eyes,
with an entire universe hiding in her mind,
she'll spend her days believing she is dumb
until someone explains to her that there are
many ways to be smart.
So tell her
that there's nothing wrong
with a head full of words instead of
a head full of numbers,
tell her the world needs more people that
thinks the way she does,
that there are empty places that only she can fill.
Tell her that this life needs more
deep feelers,
more dreamers,
more storytellers,
more people who are willing to
write about what hurts.
Tell her that it's okay if her words
sound better in her head
and written down on paper
than out loud.
That you don't need biceps to be strong,
that you don't need an 'A' printed next to a math test
to prove your intelligence.
That you don't need another person's praise
to validate your talents or ideas,
to validate your voice.
Tell the girl with metaphors running through her veins
that you don't need to have your name
spoken over a microphone to prove you're heard,
that you don't need a bright spotlight and a stage
to prove you're seen.
Go on.
Tell her.
