My mentor is the weighty, wheezing breath at the top of a steep hill 

on days when I already know I’m late for first period.

It's the carbon dioxide my lungs won’t let out

in a sharpie-smeared bathroom stall

the four pm panic attack

remembering to exhale after the rejection,

the victory,

the application,

the end.

Every neglected breath teaches me to appreciate the air,

relish the flavor of words.

Every strain for oxygen improves my lung capacity.