it occurred to me that i can’t afford
anything
at the age of 26, if i wanted to bake a chocolate cake
i could not purchase the mix
and of course, yes
now i have food stamps
but every time i swipe that card
(careful to hide the cover because i’m embarrassed about the missing visa logo)
i might as well turn and shake the hands behind me
in front of me and beside me
and all throughout the store and states
because thanks to you i have a month’s worth of groceries
but spare no pity (as i’m sure you won’t)
for the poor black girl who just can’t seem to get it together
getting here was my doing
i wasn’t laid off from Walgreens due to time/money imbalance
and i wasn’t let go from the deli because all of a sudden americans
no longer wanted sandwiches made for them or their 4lbs of
shaved ham sliced
i quit!
i feared dying and all that i accomplished was sandwich making skills
and the ability to tell people what 75% off $3.99 is
(wait, let me get my calculator)
i feared not conquering a master’s thesis as an english major
(though, higher education didn’t work out so well for me after the 1st…2nd…3rd…4th…time)
i feared not going on a cross country road trip and encountering
strange mountain people whom i will come to discover i’m no different from
so for all that fear
i quit!
there was no way i could nurture and grow my creativity while assembling small
parts for airbag inflators
believe when i say, my brain was going numb
and sylvia plath was shaking her head at me disapprovingly
then pointed to an open gas oven
and now i’m here
26 and living off food stamps
living off my mom and sisters
who could at any point tell me to pack my things and get the hell out
the economy is bad for us too, you know
i’ve played the what if game so many times i’ve come to expect it
like a broken new year’s resolution (mine was to be more creative this year)
what if i finished college? (but steve jobs dropped out)
what if i was still slicing meat and cheeses?
for years the feeling of self-doubt has clutched me like a crab claw
and though it hurts, the pain passes
until i’m pinched a bit harder
but you know,
if were slicing meats and cheeses, i probably wouldn’t have written this poem
and if i did finish college, i might be so burnt out that
whatever i went for i no longer want to do
and by no means am i saying this is where i want to be
cause i would love to have money in the bank so i can finally
take that trip, update my wardrobe, restock my bookshelf
not have to depend on others for rides
but better to be here. now.
instead of carrying the corporate burden
and contemplating suicide.
so instead of pissing out resumes and applications
to the same places that will give me the same answers
i focus on my craft
because i believe one day
my name might just be next to Plath’s.
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