I feel the pain of being an underdog rap against my chest in a slow, grating rhythm. Tat-tat-tat.

She’ll never amount to anything.

Nobody cares.

No one is watching.

She doesn’t want it bad enough.

This cold discomfort can’t snuff out my wax candle lit in hopefulness, a beacon of my heart’s joy. I’m only being pressed upon because it’s known I’ve got something left. The audacity of ME keeps darkness in unrest. Through the cracks of the wooden box made from labels by the world over, smoke is emerging. It's my hot breath wading through the slats. A signal that I will too.