Unpresidented

My parents pick fruits,

Under a California sun. A sun that really bakes.

But winters, here, are cold too. Your fingers can turn blue.

 

I’ve worked alongs them. In the summer. Up in Washington.

It’s awful. It’s exhausting. It’s Backbreaking. It robs your youth.

I  don’t want to return.

 

I like fashion. I like bussines. I want to go into fashion merchandising.

I can do it too; I got into UB (the University of Bridgeport).

It’s so close I can touch it.

But not everything is covered.

 

With their degree I could make it anywhere.

With this prize I can make it happen.

Live a life my family can not even imagine.

But I can.

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