I am a number

I am the number Twenty Seven, Etched into my soul, my worth is that of High School drivel and recurring bile that settles behind toothy chagrin. Twenty Seven, I am nothing more than a limited edition model bathed in yellow graphite and prompts forged in the pockets of lined CEOs who have never been judged like a sneetch with the number twenty seven on their bellies, or worse twenty two. I am twenty seven, not my achievements, not my service. I am twenty seven tears on crinkled paper that acts as my gatekeeper, cryptkeeper, and during my eulogy they will say she did well for what she had to work with, being a twenty seven.