Brave Batmen

It’s October 31st again,

And though I thought ahead,

I’m not wearing a costume.

My pink sweatshirt, made Karen one year ago as a gift,

Fits just right (even though she painted my face white upon it);

It says “Get real” as if it were my catchphrase then,

I guess it’s more fitting now.

I had a nametag that was leftover from a board meeting I went to,

Just a guest for my introductory nonprofit sector class;

But still: my name.

I cut it up, saving the plastic sheath and elaborate magnetic back,

I left my name alone, with only an invitation:

Ask me for clarification.

I put it together in five minutes, a month ago, before it made sense.

I was annoyed at the time; why should I be dressed in a disguise?

Am I not enough?


It used to only be a question;

Some sort of angry glare into the void.

I’d dress how I want, put make up on when I pleased,

But still, such an unresolved question.

The trick or treat-ers come.

A little girl less than three

Comes up the steps

Dressed like Batman.

So young, but already left in the dust of her siblings.

Brave Little Girl,

You may be dressed like Batman,

But you received two Starbursts instead of their one

Just because you fought your way up the stairs.

I whispered to you to not tell,

Not because it’s a secret,

But because they wouldn’t understand.

Dear Batman:

We are all Batmen,

We are all people,

We can all be heroes.

You may not know your powers,

But they come with practice, not age.

You don’t need a costume,

To be a Batman,

We need Batmen every day of the year.

Batman, don’t grow up;

We need your superpowers around Gotham,

At least, while it’s still so dark.

There are many Villains who seek to destroy you,

But you are stronger.

If you give up now,

Who will wait for the other little Batmen,

And give them twice the Starburst?


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I am a teacher-to-be who loves people. I am not afraid of many things. I like to explain my thoughts logically on a very birds-eye view level--I was born thinking that way. I follow Jesus Christ, and I accept only that label to describe my identity--that I am a child of God, as are infinite others, regardless of their other identities. Christ is my one thing.

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