My whole life has been leading up to this class-this moment.

I am in AP Art.

I’ve made it.

 

I’m one of the strong ones, holding tight through the current

As my teacher picks me and my skills apart.

I’ve made it.

“What is your concentration?” my teacher asks.

I can not disappoint him. This man has been my hero for the last two years-

This room my safe space.

“I’m focusing on my mental illnesses” I tell him meekly.

He’s silent.  

“Are you happy?”

My eyes well and the floodgate bursts, and

I cry at school for the first time in years.

I shake my head no.

No, I am not happy.

I have not been happy for weeks.

I need to get happy

I'm supposed to be one of the strong ones.

I need to make it.

 

I dive in headfirst.

No looking back.

No running away.

Not this time. This time is different.

I am going to make it.

 

I navigate my head, running blindly, but moving forward.

I sidestep landmines, and I nearly drown,

But I make it.

 

I dodge curses and bottles,

And I trample the eggshells

I have walked on for so long,

No longer fearing their cracking.

I’ve made it.

 

He likes my art,

And I like my art.

And I’ve applied to one of the best art schools in the country.

I’ve almost made it.

And I will get there,

And I will be okay,

And I will make it.