i sit in classrooms where futures are mapped
like road trips with no tolls, no dead ends,
just open highways and endless signs
pointing to anywhere but here.
but my world is smaller,
a pin on the map i cannot pull up,
a radius i cannot expand.
they speak of choices like air,
like water, like something everyone drinks,
but i sip scarcity,
i taste limits on my tongue.
my acceptance letter won’t be a ticket,
no plane, no train, no fresh start—
just a short drive down roads i’ve always known,
to a school that chose me
simply because i had no choice at all.