Chemistry

the poem that started it all

[tw: mention of self-harm]

When I took the pass to go to the counselor,
he told me to tell him everything.

I told him about
the ups and downs
the ins and outs
why in Ms. Rickett's Chemistry class
I choose to experiment with myself.

I've never understood chemistry,
but I come every day
because I don't have a scalpel at home.

Slim. Sharp. Important.
In all of its sleek, silver beauty are
my radioactive desires.

I spend those fifty minutes a day
tracing elements on the periodic table with a finger
S, Am...
but it doesn't need to remind me 
I can't be the same.

I don't have a formula.
I don't come in set ratios.
I wouldn't feel sad 7.5 
times more than happy.

I can't help but envy these chemicals.
I don't "naturally" find equilibrium.
Ms. Ricketts says some chemicals 
are lucky enough to be amphoteric:
both acidic and basic.

Maybe I am too. 
Sometimes sour, 
sometimes bitter. 
Just not so lucky.

I'm permanently between my
boiling and melting point
constantly shifting states 
always on edge as if my own 
blood crackles with electricity.

I imagine electrons would be easier on the veins,
but if it was easy, it wouldn't be chemistry.

The counselor tells me not to feel this way,
that I have the world in the palm of my hands,
but I look every day, 
and I've never found it there.

So he tells me to dig deeper.
Find it in myself.

¹art by Pragna Gaddamedi (@prgs.jpeg)

---

Poetry Tip of the Day!

Though it’s gone through a few revisions since its first draft, this is my first real poem. Real in this case meaning not-prompted-by-a-school-assignment. The previous update in this Word document was dated May 25, 2016 a.k.a. the end of my senior year of high school. One might guess why this poem came to mind during a tough time, but in a lot of ways, writing this poem is the first memory I have of making art. It was difficult, and it was educational. I didn’t know where I was going to end up when I started, but it felt meaningful to see it to completion—not for any other purpose than to develop an idea: chemistry is f***ing hard. And yes, one poem later I felt a lot better.

---

1. Interpreter of Ramblings