Poem by Leah Landron

I got good at math when I was young,

back when it was still fun

to try to climb each rung to try and beat the best

because when the antonym of success wasn't worthless,

the possibilities seemed endless.

Now I hate it but these numbers have become my identity.

Yet I do like that “smart” is what others think of me

but, it's not healthy to have it this way

where all the gifted kids are blindfolded, led down a hallway

and if you step wrong, your captors can kill

because why should anyone respect you still

if you're not the best at everything?

It's all a wall built ten feet high

because at that point it's pointless for anyone to try

to tear you down

because you're too oblivious to see the ground,

so when you start to get numbers after numbers

telling you, you're not that,

what can you do but sit back

because you were never taught how to fail

becauseyourfailuredoesn'tcount

and even your "not good enough"s don't amount

to anyone actually noticing.

At least not in the attentitive way,

which is all you ever wanted in the first place.

I expected the fall of a gifted kid to have concern warranted

but nothing, because no one sees

everyone feels invisible, but I'm hiding behind invisibility

because I don't know what I want because no one ever taught me

how to deconstruct my entire self-perspective

because it was founded on an innocence never reprimanded

and if I was left-handed maybe I would have been brought up differently,

but this is how it is now so what is there left to be, but hurt.

Because if numbers are our worth,

then this year I'm a bad investment

because all good things must come to an end,

and you can't get higher than a hundred percent

because what goes up must come down,

and maybe now I've met the ground.

But I mean, who really cares if your logic is sound

when all you do is look around and see

your social status reflected back to your breaking sanity,

but maybe if I could just be me,

nothing else would have to matter but the

problem with that is that we live for others

...which may also be a saving grace discovered.

‘Cause the people we've touched count more than we've bothered

and achievement isn't currency or us an account to be covered,

and in the end, the only thing that adds up is each other

and maybe that's how we forget about the numbers.