by Haleigh Gaines
The mitochondrion is the powerhouse of the cell.
I know much about a lot,
But little about myself.
Do I like equations?
Microscopes and protractors?
Do I love essays and reading?
In preschool, they teach you that you do.
That you love phonics and counting and your friends and emotions.
But then in middle school you hate learning and emotions, because it’s cool.
And in high school you love to hate because it’s cool.
But later you miss it.
Then you go to college.
You’re happy, right?
Ready to soar to a new height.
But you must pick a major.
What do you like?
What do I like?
Science, Math, English?
Do I have a longtime dream I wish to achieve?
All I remember is working hard because I had to.
Now I get to choose my work, but why am I sad to?
Why am I confused?
Have I been abused?
By a school system that taught me nothing of me?
How could they teach everything but how to live with myself?
Were they wrong, or am I?
Should I have expected my teachers to teach me about myself?
How could they? Even I don’t know myself.
But couldn’t they have taught me how to learn about myself
So I don’t discern my self-worth from somewhere else?
Now I am searching for myself everywhere and nowhere.
In microscopes and textbooks.
In the library and classrooms.
In a major I’m unsure of.
In my brain, instead of my heart.
In a vague plan for my life,
I’m still searching for meaning.
I wish I could look inside of my soul,
Like I do with cells,
And know the parts and pieces of myself.