I was taught that my worth is

equal to my test scores

(I was afraid of being worthless

so I got straight A’s)

 

Then it was insisted that the

quantity of those in my life

equaled the quality of it

(I made sure to be polite,

accept, give and not to question)

 

After proving little worth

for crossing into my adult life

with no degree

I was given a checklist to

keep on track

and regain my worth:

high-paying job

trophy girl

big apartment

retirement, insurance, savings

vehicles and toys

5-yr plan

10-yr, 25-yr, 75-yr, after death plans

All of which I was to seek permission for

then approval of

to decide if I am yet worth enough

 

All my life, I did most things right

yet only been judged for the

few mistakes I’ve made

and though I tried

and though I gave

and though I helped and listened

I was always taught

my worth was measured on dollars held

 

So, I continued to live with having

no worth

 

Then, a book was presented to me

by a dark spirit filled with light

I turned the pages of this new book

looked over the graffiti-strewn wall

on who’s cold, worthless destructive side

I was resigned to be caste

I listened to new voices

through the drone of the stale ones I lived with

I smelled fragrant aromatics

reminding me of memories I never had

Heard the drums

felt an odd surge tingle through my nervous system

and saw a world so abounding, so complex

so appearing full of worth

having nothing of what I came to learn of worth

 

I climbed down from this wall

I closed the book

the word maktub lingering like a daffodil pedal

soaring to the ocean in hopes of traveling the world

Every sense evaporated

 

I stared at the cardboard stuffed with tree shavings

and thought of its worth

 

Then, like the whisper of a lover during slumber

I remembered something else I learned

of the endless realities within books

of the alternate lives they offer

these blocks of paper

these seemingly worthless blocks of paper

 

All my life

I was taught how to do everything right

only to learn that worth, in itself, has none

because I am an individual

and lesson number one

in the life of one

is that there is nothing of true worth

within the life of a conformist

 

 

 

af

 

 

 

(written on pen & paper)