All Nonfiction
- Bullying
- Books
- Academic
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Heroes
- Interviews
- Memoir
- Personal Experience
- Sports
- Travel & Culture
All Opinions
- Bullying
- Current Events / Politics
- Discrimination
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Environment
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
All Hot Topics
- Bullying
- Community Service
- Environment
- Health
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
- Back
Summer Guide
- Program Links
- Program Reviews
- Back
College Guide
- College Links
- College Reviews
- College Essays
- College Articles
- Back
Because I Agreed
Unfortunately, because I agreed,
chained myself to this lifelong covenant
to one’s great angst, the angst of failure,
I am successful. Maybe the air that
I breathe is stale with fear, as if I was
naïve enough to believe that last week’s
message wasn’t clear; everything’s
wrong with staying here; a place where
success is farther than failure is near.
Unfortunately, they knew. I was laden
with pressure, body ailing from a substance
so strong, acid wouldn’t be able to gradually
rip it apart. The stop’s Red Maple looks as
good as new. Born maybe the day that
I came to the neighborhood.
Who am I kidding?
It’s probably older than half the residents here.
Yet, it swam with me through the Erie,
guided by a beating heart.
It came with over the Grand Canyon,
a precipice of precipitous challenges.
It played with through the Super Bowl,
pushed me down onto the ball, propelling me into the
end zone.
Mom’s advice was to take an umbrella with me
to school, waiting by the bus stop with a piece of
cloth over my head.
Grandma laughed it off, telling me that the rain’s
lighter than a swan’s touch, shrugging off the possibility
of catching a cold.
I waited, though, for a response.
I waited, years, for a response.
Bus Stop:
8:34 AM (Monday) — the tree sways like a the Kool-Aid Man; windy day we’re having.
8:32 AM (Tuesday) — nearly missed the bus using the bathroom, clinching those extra four minutes.
8:34 AM (Wednesday) — maybe it’s true; 8:34 AM is the time to beat.
O’ younger me would’ve never
been swayed by the advent of fearing
the “un-” before successful.
He would’ve simply stayed there
waiting for Stanley, the bus driver, to
stop by the morning’s pick-up.
Similar Articles
JOIN THE DISCUSSION
This article has 0 comments.
This poem ties together a surreal moment of imagery, standing in the bitter cold waiting for my bus, yet captivated by the beautiful red maple beside the bus stop, with a bitter reality of perfectionism. “Because I Agreed,” as those three words clearly denote, is a reply of “What else can I do?” It speaks to the bustle and confusion of those final few years of adolescence to adulthood.