My 11-year-old daughter's poetry

Owner’s Manual
by "C"

Confuse me.
It’s not that hard to do.

Mock me.
And you are the fool.

Accuse me.
But be prepared for battle.

Marginalize me.
And expose your insecurities.

Objectify me.
And know a fraction of who I am.

Define me.
If you possess the vocabulary.

Inspire me.
Please.

I've never read such an eloquent "F-off" - the writing process was fun for me because she would walk into a room and ask me "What's another word for when boys look at you like you're lunch but then they don't actually ever talk to you about anything?" I'd throw out a few and she'd say "Yeah!! Objectify! Thanks, Mom." I was her personal thesaurus for the evening. Finally... all those English classes were put to good use.

As hard as the whole social scene is in middle school, I'm really proud of C for finding productive ways to channel her angst. It hasn't been an easy road this year but she's matured so much that I can't say it has been a bad experience. I'm sticking with that thought because the image of her flirting with one of the (really talented) guitar-playing dudes from the talent show yesterday has opened a whole new can of parental neuroses that I prefer to avoid for the time being.