12 * 12 * 12 Poem

It was my first day of school and gym, in sixth grade.

The nights before, I had packed my gym uniform.

Mamma asked if the shirt was appropriate.

I was quick to say yes, eager to go to sleep.

I regret packing that tight fitting, no sleeve,

stretch, muscle shirt that I knew I shouldn’t have brought.

I arrived at school, then it was time for gym.

I changed, everyone had on a regular white shirt.

Mine was super tight, I was self conscious about it.

I walked out of the locker room, arms crossed over my chest.

It seemed like Coach Tilson was waiting, she said,

“You’re practically naked! Just put on your polo.”

Coming home that day, to a crisp, white envelope.

My name (spelled incorrectly), and address on it.

I hardly ever got mail, I was curious. 

I saw the blue star in the corner of the mail.

I read the smaller bold words next to it stating,

“The Ann Richards School for Young Women Leaders.” Wow.

My entire family gathered in the living room, 

to watch me open the letter that could change me.

I was nervous, thinking if I should open it.

I opened the letter at the speed of a sloth. 

Colorful star shaped sequences fell out of it.

Happy, the letter read, Dear Sanaya, congrats.

 

It was a huge risk, running for student council. 

I barely knew people, and they barely knew me.

I had done some research for my campaign posters.

And, I had also done some research for my speech.

Had the mindset of a champ, no doubt about it. 

Help from my family, support, from them to me.

The time had finally come, to step on that stage.

I walked to the mic, and spoke the words from my page.

Then, I set the page down and spoke from my thoughts. 

I spoke the truth, no lies, I spoke from inside.

After, someone had come and pulled the sympathy card.

I lost, because she cried, and everyone fell for it.

Pie Face. The game puts cream in your face.

It’d just came out, and I’d begged to get it.

One day, we finally bought that new game.

I was excited, they all said to try it out.

I was ready to watch everyone get hit.

Of course, I had just figured that I wouldn’t.

For a fact, I did not want to get hit with cream.

We had started the game, going around to play.

Each turn got scarier and scarier. The whip cream sat.

We had done a full round, and it was my turn.

I turned the crank, the amount that I had spun.

One turn… it hit me. No more Pie Face.

 

6th grade list for band, it says get a bell kit.

A bell what? Never heard of it, but I found it.

I got mine at Vic Firth. It’s an instrument.

Really, it’s multiple instruments in one case.

A bell kit is a pain. Just looking at it now.

I’m glad I no longer have it. I struggled.

I struggled to wheel it around the whole school.

I struggled to drag it up and down all the stairs.

I accidentally rolled over people.

I either hit their ankles, or they kicked it.

Life as a twelve year old was a struggle.

Just glad I don’t have to deal with it anymore.

 

I’m not sure where I came across it.

May have found it in the park, or on a road.

Consisted an interesting pearl black tone.

I placed it in my hands, the smooth surface.

I happened to have some googly eyes.

Only problem, I had no glue. I could wait some.

We arrived home, I ran in to begin.

“A dot of glue, that will due.” Well maybe a few.

I pasted the eyes on and drew a face.

I stepped back to admire my work of art.

What a beauty. A rock turned into a best friend.

I still have the memory. I named it Rocky.

 

It’s true name is to be unnamed in this.

Others and myself refer to this thing as the Pest.

Now, the Pest is something that doesn’t understand.

It’s difficult for The Pest to comprehend things.

Even the simplest things. That’s how they were taught.

Can’t blame them for it, just wish they’d except it.

Except that I know more than them in subjects.

I don’t like how The Pest attempts to test me.

I can’t take it serious when it acts younger.

To the point where I’m upset, all the time.

The Pest’s presence just annoys me on it’s own.

How would it be if I didn’t meet The Pest at 12?

 

It was my first day of attending Ann Richards.

I was excited, nervous, also, confused.

Above all, I was mainly one thing. I was lost.

I was lost on where to go, who to talk to.

I began to ask myself why I came to school.

I knew that I wasn’t the only one who felt this way.

I had tried to follow my given schedule.

In the halls I only saw the back of other’s heads.

Or, I saw angry faces telling me to speed up.

Guess I was walking to slow for everyone.

Although the first day was ruff, it had got better.

Later in the day, I collected and found myself.

 

“You should! You have the chance to, take it.”

They told me to try. I told then I wouldn’t do it.

My teacher asked me why not, I told her this:

I struggle already, why skip to struggle more.  

They pestered and tried to push me. I denied.

I used to tell myself that school was super hard.

After saying yes to their request, I tried it.

I learned that school isn’t hard, it’s just challenging.

I had went from 7th grade math to algebra.

Trust me when I say, it wasn’t easy. I still struggled.

I did the best I could. For it, I very was proud.

Algebra built my character, glad I said yes.

 

I played volleyball, but outside of school.

I was the oldest, most experienced player.

I had tried out for volleyball, once I could.

At twelve, I thought the tryout would be an easy one.

Wrong. I had never knew how different it was.

How much harder I would have to work for it.

How much my competition had wanted it too.

I didn’t really have competition before.

I had set in my mind that it would not be easy.

I had to get prepared and challenge myself.

I thought that everyone deserved a spot.

I almost cried, seeing my name on that team list.

 

I’m heated, my face is flushed with anger.

I’m screaming, my aunt’s yelling, we’re in a fight.

I spit out something that isn’t meant to be said.

“SMACK!” A hand flies across my check, mouth flies open.

I didn’t expect it, salty tears flow down my face.

Flowing like a waterfall. I am in shock.

She tries to stay serious, but I know she feels bad.

She’s never hit me before. Eyes on us.

I storm out the house straight to the car. Screaming.

Grandma’s here, “Take me home?” I ask her.

I don’t know how I’ve managed to hold it in.

I’m inside alone. I let it all out.

 

I had never truly known what stress actually stood for.

That changed, through my years as a twelve year old.

Everything was becoming more difficult.

All the easy things didn’t look easy to me anymore.

I would go cry myself to sleep repeatedly.

I had started to have meltdowns, but rarely.

Also, I had started to doubt myself frequently.

Everyone asked me if I was ready for change.

If I’d known what was coming, I would have said no.

Change was hard, I didn’t want to to deal with it.

But, at the very same time, I did not have a choice.

The only thing I could do, was push through all of it.