Andrea Gibson - A letter to the playground bully from andrea age 8 1/2 lyrics

A LETTER TO THE PLAYGROUND BULLY, FROM ANDREA, AGE 8 ½ maybe there are cartwheels in your mouth maybe your words will grow up to be a gymnasts maybe you have been kicking people with them by accident I know some people get a whole lot of rocking in the rocking chair and the ones who don't sometimes get rocks in their voice boxes, and their voice boxes become slingshots. maybe you think my heart looks like a baby squirrel. but you absolutely missed when you told the cla** I have head lice ‘cause I one hundred percent absolutely do not have head lice and even if I do it is a fact that head lice prefer clean heads over dirty ones so I am clean as a whistle on a tea pot. my mother says it is totally fine if I blow off steam as long as i speak in an octave my kindness can still reach. my kindness knows mermaids never ever miss their legs in the water ‘cause there are better ways to move through the ocean than kicking. so guess what, if I ever have my own team I am picking everyone first even the worst kid and the kid with the stutter like a skipping record ‘cause I know all of us are scratched, even if you can't hear it when we speak. my mother says most people have heartbeats that are knocking on doors that will never open, and I know my heart is a broken freezer chest ‘cause I can never keep anything frozen. so no, I am not “always crying.” I am just thawing outside of the lines. and even if I am “always crying” it is a fact that salt is the only reason everything floats so good in the dead sea. and just ‘cause no one ever pa**es notes to me doesn't mean I am not super duper. in fact, my super duper might be a buoy or a paper boat the next time your nose gets stuck up the river ‘cause it is a fact that our hearts stop every for a mili-second every time we sneeze and some people's houses have too much dust. . some people's fathers are like attics I've heard attics have monsters in their walls and shaky stares. I think if I lived in a house with attic I'd nightmare a burglar in my safety chest and maybe I'd look for rest in the sticks and stones ‘cause my mother says a person can only swallow so much punch before he's drunk on his own fist but the only drunk I ever knew was sleeping in the alley behind our church and jesus turned water into his wine so even god has his bad days but on your bad days couldn't you just say “hey I'm having a bad day,” instead of telling me I'm stupid or poor, or telling me I dress like a boy ‘cause maybe I am a boy AND a girl maybe my name is Andrea Andrew. so what. it is a fact that bumblebees have hair on their eyes and humans, also, should comb though everything they see. like an anchorman is not a sailor. like the clouds might be a pillow fight. like my mother says, “every bird perched on a telephone wire will listen to the conversations running through its feet to decide the direction of its flight.” so I know every word we speak can make hurricanes in people's weather veins or shine their shiny shine so maybe sometime you could sit beside me on the bus and I could say, “guess what, it is a fact that manatees have vocal chords but do not have ears. and Beethoven made music even when he could no longer hear. and I know every belt that has hit someone's back is still a belt that was built to hold something up. and it is fact that Egyptians slept on pillows made of stone but it's not hard for me to dream that maybe one day you'll write me back like the day I wrote the lightening bug to say, I smashed my mason jar and I threw away the lid. I didn't want to take a chance that I'd grow up to be a war. I want to be a belly dance or an accordion or a pogo stick or the fingerprints the mason left in the mortar between the bricks to prove that he was here, that he built a roof over someone's head to keep the storm from their faith, my mother says that's why we all were born. and I think she's right. so write back soon. sincerely yours.