I Imagine my Interview with the Ivy League
Updated: Feb 23
So this is who you are — bright young
scholar, face like white peach. Soft and
luminous. Ripe for the picking.
Scholar, tell me which poison you prefer;
this five foot body of yours could not have
survived the head rush of a hell ride of a
high school career without the aid of
substances and abuse. Tell me, scholar,
did you wrap your tongue around the
firewood of Ambition? Or perhaps
Pressure did it to you; it is commonly
known as the violet liquid that chokes.
So, scholar, ready your arrows. However
many you brought is your number of
chances. May your aim ring true, may you
aim for something that sticks; remember that
I am your target, my iris what you hope to
penetrate. Force me to look at you. I will
catch your arrows in my palms and I will
decide if they break skin.
Asian girl, how are you unlike the others?
Asian girl, you better bite your nails into
daggers and pray that I christen you tiger.
Let me tell you about the girl who wrote
poems. The girl who spoke in quivering
birdsong and shy smile. Shy smile pulled
back, to reveal pearls of ice caps, craters of
moon; otherwise known as the dirty white
pebbles we kick for fun in America.