Why do I even try?
Try to fulfill the American Dream that is echoed in every classroom,
I do not know why.
Afterall, it is all based on luck now,
For I can work hard all my life and in any swift turn of events, have nothing.
And just as easily as things can be taken away from me,
Things can be gained.
Lottery winnings, tornados, stock prices rise and fall,
All based on luck.
So why do I try?
Knowing that in the end, it is all going to be based on luck.
Based on luck in a society driven by those who have the upperhand,
Driven by those born in the favorable end of the race in life.
And sometimes I curse my complexion,
Which is stained with the archetype of the squinty eyes and jet-black hair.
A complexion that seems to declare to the world,
"Hello, I am a math genius."
or "I know all about the sciences and the mechanisms of electronics"
But I don't.
I have tried.
Tried to understand the numbers that swarm around the courses of Calculus,
Tried to understand the sciences that weave in and out of the realm of mathemetics,
Tried to understand the switches and plugs that define electricity,
Only to find in my attempts that each and every subject that is supposed to define me,
Math, science, technology,
Works against my brain.
They mock me, constrict me, throw me limits,
They say that my life is just the numbers and functions that can be solved.
I am more than a number, more than a function,
My body may have a certain number of chromosomes,
My heartbeats can be calculated,
But my mind will never be defined.
And that is why I write.
I write because I do not want to be defined.
I do not want to be defined as a genius by my race,
I do not want to be defined as a formula that calcuates my thought process.
I am defined as infinitely possible,
And I break down the walls set by society.
Real life cannot be calculated by numbers,
Proof is in the American dream,
How it lies in luck.
Pure luck.
And that is why I try.
I try to be undefined, I write to ensure I am.