Poem For Media Studies

I was told to write

a poem tonight.

Have the draft done by Thursday,

Or Monday instead.

Langston Hughes’ page

for English B says that

if a page comes out of you,

then it is true.

So here I am,

trying to etch myself onto paper.

I am fifteen, born in 2002.

I can’t relate to those “90’s kids things”

since I’m a couple years too late for that.

Eight years of my life were spent at home,

in a small town I doubt many people have heard of.

Or perhaps they have, I can’t really say.

Most of those eight years were spent

behind a desk in my kitchen,

scribbling notes on high school trig

in the chicken scratch little kids

often call neat handwriting.

I am fifteen, born in 2002.

When I was nine years old

I left the comfort of the home

that I grew up in

and went to a private school

that happened to be in the backyard

of my new house.

It was much more different

than the home-schooling

I was accustomed to,

but it didn’t take long

for that school to become

the only school I knew,

and for the friends I made to be

the only friends I ever really

wanted to know.

When I had to choose between

going to a new school

with the friends I knew

and a new school

where I didn’t know anyone,

I chose the new school

for the insignificant reason

that I was promised a field trip

to Washington D.C.,

which was conveniently canceled

before I could participate.

I was in the seventh grade.

Freshman year of highschool

I changed things up

and joined the speech and debate team.

I had been really shy

for so many years,

and developed a hatred

for public speaking

which was erased after

a debate meet (or two).

I am fifteen, born in 2002.

And here I am,

writing my poem

for Media Studies.