12

In my little blue purse,
I carry 3 pencils,
a note from my best friend, Rosa,
folded origami-style,
ready to be passed back to her 4th period.
My science homework named and dated -
but that's it.
My math homework. It's done,
but I don't know if it's right.
Mom doesn't know either.
My cell phone's on vibrate,
I can't let the teachers hear it.
I have four dollars wadded up for
lunch: 2 bags of Hot Cheetos and a Pepsi -
some left over for a snack on the way home
for my little brother.

On my scrawny, but growing body,
I carry my outfit proud:
pale yellow shirt
tight denim jeans.
Low
hanging on my hips.
Starch white shoes
laced for looks,
not fit.
Pink eye shadow,
black eyeliner to accent
my brown eyes.
Chocolate colored hair pulled back
in tiny, bright rubber bands.
I keep my clothes clean,
respectable, it shows we care.
I mix and match tops with pants -
it seems I have more clothes that way.
My sister will wear these things when she gets bigger.
She is only 2.

In my fragile, (so they say) self-centered mind,
I carry family, friends, school, culture.
Mom works at night so I
cook
clean
change diapers
wash
wait
wonder
if dad will ever come back so I can
tell him about my new best friend.
I don't get in trouble,
but I do get bad grades, dad.
I try my hardest to fit in,
to have friends,
boyfriends, like Juan,
people
to make mom proud.

I am 12
and I carry everyone
except myself.