three;
my mom enrolled me in piano classes
I sat piously in front of black and white keys
all I wanted was to make noise in spite of melody

six;
the same happened with ballet class
two short years later, I retired the leotard
grace and strength do not come from practice

eight;
my teachers sat across from me on parents’ day
they cast euphemisms for ‘troublemaker’
my opinions were not welcomed in class

nine;
I started taking swimming lessons
I hated the way the suit hugged my body
and how unwelcoming the water moved against me

ten;
I was told to “grow up”
so I wouldn’t lag behind my peers
no, we simply couldn’t have that

fifteen;
in a screenwriting class
the teacher read my script
called me “wise beyond her years”

sixteen;
my shelves began glistening
with trophies from writing competitions
that affirmed who I was

seventeen;
I graduated from the top class
among peers who were encased in ivy futures
and they hung our names on banners like war heroes

eighteen;
my college transcript saw
nothing but a feral row of A’s
my referral letters rang of praises and validation

nineteen;
I ran for student council president
and lost ceremoniously
no one understood what that loss did to me

twenty;
I lost confidence in everything
my words, my image, my body, my ambition
and amidst my loudest screams, the world chose silence

when I get hungry
I wonder if I could eat away at the chip on my shoulder
and I wonder if doing so would make me hungrier or fuller

when I laugh or love too loud in front of others
I wonder if I could rip my heart off my sleeve
and I wonder if doing so would let them see more or less of me

when I feel less-than
I wonder if Kafka was right
that life is a costume party and I had attended with my real face

do they not like what they see?
do they not like what I am?
do they want me to pretend?
do they want me to pretend to be fine because emotion stunts progress?

I’ve always known I grew up too fast
I’ve always known I shouldered too much
I’ve always known I lived off validation
and is that the consequence of my own actions or the world around me?
does the consequence of my actions create the world around me?

I never learned to say no
and so my inability to decline is mistaken for overeagerness
I cry behind closed doors
and so my optimistic front is mistaken for a helpful pillar
I persist through pain
and so my silent suffering is mistaken for strength

I am not strong
my shoulders stagger
my spine shivers
my knees buckle under the weight of the world
my fingers brush the bars of the cage I have built for myself
my eyes only see the sins I have committed

twenty-one;
I make noise in spite of melody
I talk not to please but to make myself heard
my grace and strength come from the people around me
and somedays they fail to breathe
despite swimming lessons, I struggle to stay afloat every day
and I learn to deal with people who say, “at least you’re not drowning”

most nights,
I wonder about what went wrong
most nights,
I don’t feel real
most nights,
I wish the world were ending the next evening

so I might take a train to my younger self
and tell her to do us both a favor