It was an early summer morning when the air was still crisp. I sat in an old-fashioned chair in the small classroom surrounded by chalk boards and information. Every chair was filled with students, computers open on the mahogany tables. Quick typing and fast writing. The cacophony of writing fills me with inspiration. I don’t consider myself a good writer, but a practicing one. Soon Ms.Water’s timer went off, it was time to share. I was observing a Gifted Creative Writing Class discuss this question as a writing prompt. I am the teaching assistant, there to observe, to listen, and to assist.

Students raised their hands to share different ideas, a majority of students agreed that intelligence was the most important quality. You can use intelligence to become an “academic weapon” and become successful. One student bravely shared, despite the judgement that might come with her answer, she would choose beauty. She explained she knew that it might seem superficial, but there was merit, there is a level of privilege that arrives with being beautiful, but as with many traits, there is a burden. People talked about the burden of being famous or rich causing distrust with the intentions of those who claim to want friendship. Most of these students are probably somewhat rich, they are paying almost half the cost of my college tuition for a 3 week program at an esteemed university, so I don’t think anyone decided on either of the latter.

While some student’s acknowledge that privilege, to others it is so normalized it doesn’t seem out of the ordinary. For some reason I was eager to share my answer but I decided to not. What I would have said was wealth. As a young woman of color who had grown up in poverty and always strove towards academic excellence, I have seen first-hand, the lack of connection between talent and success.

You can be very intelligent but without proper resources, what can that knowledge do?

You can be famous, but can’t always live with freedom of making decisions without thinking about public scrutiny or notice.

You can be pretty, and while it might help to get a job, it can be not only vilified but used against you in terrible ways.

While money doesn’t equate to happiness and can cause greed, with the right person, money allows for stability. It can mean getting specialized tutoring for a subject you don’t perform well in. It can mean attending a prestigious program you got accepted into without worrying that they have offered no financial aid. It can mean helping others that are under-resourced and marginalized become successful too. While it doesn’t solve all your problems, wealth opens doors that are often guarded and locked.

But then again, not everything has to be so straightforward, there is inner beauty, emotional intelligence, physical wealth (well-being), and is there another way to be famous?

I guess I’d really like to be smart in more ways than one and have enough money to live comfortably.But that is my two cent’s from the peanut gallery, so what do you think? Which one would you decide?

Sometimes I lack brevity and punctuation.

Other times the point is too swift,

words rushed in a scurry

it’ll be an anaphora of alliterations

or amusing metaphors adrift

with a dash of personification

to leave blank space for

similes smiling simply on the page.

An interaction of styles all mixed in

like white washed brown, beige

for I fear sometimes my writing has been racialized

called out on lack of Blackness

and stigmatized.

The conscious effort of linguistic ostracization,

I realized

apparently semantics do matter.

So I am not a sophisticated writer

but I am learning to be.

It feels impossible

to reach for the moon

or land among the stars

when you feel like

you are only floating

aimlessly in space.

Imposter syndrome creeps

into every crevice of my mind.

Just when I thought I could

feign confidence in time-

I guess that idiom isn’t true for me.

you can’t always make it

no matter how much you fake it.

Questions of doubt

constantly paralyze

my thoughts.

is it as ubiquitous as it seems

the feeling of never being

enough?

when does the apostrophe appear

changing one word to a phrase?

impossible to i’m possible

a statement of confidence I no longer lack

a statement of truth and tact.

seconds away from a catastrophe,

but once it didn’t seem so,

Once a long time ago

everything seemed simpler.

The older I get, the more responsibility I seem to accrue,

As if adulting is a never ending subscription

to problems on a scale never equal to solutions.

Government shutdowns,

endless war,

millions of layoffs,

excessive taxes.

Overworked and underpaid

the american dream was never in reach.

It just seemed like it was

possible

not probable.

Because the logical part of my prefrontal cortex

always knew that

would never happen.

The chance was less like lightning striking and

more like winning the lottery,

It’s something you read in the newspaper

Or watch in the news,

It’s something that never happens to you.

Education was supposed to be the key

that unlocked the door of unlimited possibilities.

But the American dream is not extemporaneous

except for those with silver spoons

reflecting wealth inherited

not earned

hard work plus dedication equals meritocracy

yet something is missing in this equation

at least for me.

I guess the world is still complicated.

doesn’t arrive in perfect

picturesque quotes about life.

The advice I need is about balance.

Thinking about the past,

present, & future simultaneously

seems somehow strenuous.

Financially stable and educated

but to what degree?

I mean literally,

do I need a Master’s or a Ph.D?

Maybe the Bachelor’s is all I need?

Do I live to work or work to live?

Maybe chase deferred dreams in a broken economy

or relent to reality instead?

to the women I know

and the women I don’t

to the women in my tribe

and in my circle

from family

to friends,

the workplace

and random events

the women I aspire to be

and the little girls I aim to inspire

here’s to the women with high school degrees

to the women with Ph.D’s

to the one’s who couldn’t go to school

and the one’s who went for them.

Here’s to our dreams

coming true

to good surprises

and the great unexpected

here’s to glass ceilings being broken

to equal pay

to education being a right

and stereotypes invisible

to not equality

but equity and truth

here’s to all the women

that want change too.

The mystery of jellyfish

with no heart,

yet they pulse throughout the ocean.

No brain

but they yearn

to find their place

always moving.

No bones

yet

technically immortal,

ancient, and forever

floating in our oceans.

The mystery of jellyfish;

some beginning as a grain of rice

and days pass

weeks too

then suddenly the

they expand to the size

of a canoe

swimming higher than

the ocean floor

but never rising to the oar

because if they do

the wind evaporates their skin and

soon they’ll have no life to live

but even then

death can’t

rob them of their sting

for it stays like a loyal friend.

** Inspired by the book The Thing About Jellyfish and information provided by

National Geographic

Natural History Museum

They say the

grass is greener

on the other side

But no one talks about

the pesticides

see people

tell themselves

It’ll get better and

it bides the time

But it seems they are blind

They don’t always see the truth

That all that glitters isn’t gold

And the most expensive things sold

Are not always worth the price you pay

Even with a seat at the table

It doesn’t mean your voice is heard

Its like the words

Get lost along the–

-They didn’t matter anyway

“Getting into college must be so easy for you”

They blame affirmative action

Claiming policies are relaxed and

“It’s only because you’re Black” and

No one talks about the struggle behind the name

Ivy league is a different league

But sometimes seems the same

Because we still can not find the community we need

Diversity without inclusion

Is a photo op and numbers

Ratios are hard to define but

Experiences don’t lie

They tell us

Change must happen

And not just someday.

*Based on Dr.Vee Kativhu’s research of Black Women’s experiences in academia and my own conversations with Black and Brown women in PWI colleges.

People always say “Don’t be the statistic.” In all truth, even I have caught myself thinking this or even reminding a peer from class or friend of mine to ‘act right’. I have whispered to myself, “I’ll never be the statistic”, as if me making it to college graduation or listening to classical piano pieces like Passacagalia made me less immune to that tragedies that bombarded my brain.

The one that says something like 1 in every 10 Black children would not graduate from high school, or that 1 in every 6 Black youth would become incarcerated before their 18th birthday. The one that says the your geography determines your life expectancy. The ones that say that it is impossible to do achieve your dreams, because only 1 in a million make it, right?

Almost as if statistics equated to the negative stereotypes that so easily sneak into the modern expectations of anyone who is Black. It is if statistics were not an accumulation of people put together without the full story, without the context of the external factors that cause the aftermath.

Nevertheless, I neglected to take this into consideration, all I knew was that I refused to become a number; a point on someone’s else data sheet. I strove to get the best grades, write the best essays, and I focused on my creative outlets. I tried to not become a statistic. Maybe I was lucky to not become a statistic. I know I am privileged in some regards, yet in many ways I am not. I, very well, could have been one of the unfortunate statistics that replay on the news. But some have said, if you don’t see it, you can believe it is possible?

So why are we inundating our youth with echoes of a terrifying possibilities?

What if instead we could strive to be a different statistic?

What is I was one in a hundred that broke the chains of generational poverty?

What if I was the one in a thousand that closed the gender wage gap for the company I work for?

What if I was the one in a million that blazed a trail, reached beyond the the shattered glass ceiling towards the sky?

What if I was a statistic?

One that told a story

One with a happy ending.

Why is it called small talk

When it fills up so much space?*

Maybe it’s because

It’s full of air

Holds no weight

No depth,

No despair

Maybe sometimes it feels fake

Like the smile

I put on my face

Well for some

I guess their worries

Are not the same

It’ll be the simple things

I sometimes lack

like hearing

laughter echo

from

hallways that are not hollow

and having a place

that feels like home

but the only the conversation

I find myself in

feels curated

like a script from a show

recycled bits

mixed with tired cliches

yes I too

am guilty

of this facade

that should be called

the briefest exchange.

So the next time

someone asks me

how I am…

maybe I ‘ll

take a beat

break the fourth wall

and go-off script.

*Quote from “The Thing about Jellyfish” By Ali Benjamin (p.66)

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A strange situation

It seems

to no longer be a student.

More than a decade

spent in classrooms

Only to return again.

This time

as a sort of teacher

a leader?

But yet I feel

unprepared

Four years spent at an institution

One degree in a major

it seems I can’t afford to use.

was it I

who eviscerated my education?

months planning

perfect pontification

on a profession

out of reach

Four years spent

chasing dreams

now deferred.

Or

maybe a different career is calling?