Eighty Seventh

Dear Children,

No, actually.
No. I will defend her.

Listen, I know her hair is bleached blonde to the point of complete ruination, I can see her burnt ends from overuseage of a straightener. I can see her brunette roots growing back in, and I see that now it's just turned white, her hair is almost like frothy snow. And I see her puckered hot pink lips, and her fake tan. I see her fake tan, and if I didn't, I'd hear it, because everyone loves to call her to Oompa Loompa, because no one thinks she can hear it, and no one thinks laughter carries in these halls.

I see it, all of it,
and I would have seen it all if you hadn't pointed it out to me, too.
but no.
No. I see her.
I hear her.
She's intelligent. And caring. And sensible.
But what, that's not okay? Because you're not okay with it?
So she's been reduced to a frosty Oompa Loompa
because you've let her believe it.
Well stop it.

She doesn't need to change, for you.