Teacher

Bruce Springsteen taught me to embrace

The natural art of contradiction

By begging to leave a town full of losers

And praising that same place after he won for nine years

Because it was his home.

He taught me that it is okay

For a man to ask for protection

And he taught me that

A woman can ask too.

He taught me that the acceptance of weakness

Inspires hit singles with fierce guitar licks

And shouts of accomplishment.

He taught me that promises can be broken

And that dreams may be followed

But are only real after you believe

You won’t succeed.

He taught me that love is

One step up and two steps back

And that it is something you have to work for

So I should never take others' for granted

And I should never give mine away for free

And that the place where I seek refuge and salvation

Can wither up one day,

Leaving me with nowhere to mourn

But the dry dirt where that place once lied.

From you, I learned to

Strive for something better

But to also appreciate what I grew up with,

Despite its imperfections.

You taught me that it is okay to

Ask to be sung to

Or for a lap to sit on

Or to be tucked in on cold nights.

You taught me that Pink is not limited to girls

And your legacy has taught me to use its connotation of feebility

To give myself strength.

You taught me that sometimes I won't understand the severity of a situation

But not to blame the omitters when information has been omitted

Because nobody wants to be the first to drop

A child's crystal heart.

You taught me that they omit

Because they want me to continue

Believing in

And working toward

A brighter tomorrow.

You taught me that they have the right intentions but those people in fact are wrong because

Sometimes there's a blizzard in March

And it's better that you know to take shelter now

Because Spring always comes eventually.

You taught me that life is a game of sacrifice:

Hair loss is worth every extra minute it grants you with

The person you love.

You taught me that

Pink skin only temporarily resides on technicolor sand

And that time cannot heal all burns-

That technicolor is the product of a child's imagination

And that it fades to brown

Once all of the sand dollars are collected.

You taught me

That Bruce is the ideal soundtrack

For every fifteen-minute adventure I will take.