What are my fears, my hopes, my dreams made of—
are they made of the softest silk or a

pile
of
bricks

strewn in the corner.

Are they made of the

lightest                  or
             feathers           clouds

or are they just as heavy and ugly as my fears.

What am I made of,
Am I made of anything at all?

I can't remember the last time I felt like
I am more than a test score,
an application, a list, a graph of numbers comparing me
and a thousand other students

just
like
me.