“Hotter than a neuron star, the passion searing throughout its metal. Glistening milk chocolate with a rose tinge to its shade, perfect in shape and size as it fits exactly right in the palm. A testament to the fact that the effort we put forth, really means something. Stormy night downtown at the Holland in May, applause infused into the tainted and aged ribbon with flashing lights and group hugs. A shade that’s two touches brighter than gold that symbolizes the merit in being told ‘congratulations. A medal. A bright, token of honor I carry everywhere to remind myself, ‘I’m capable of greatness.’

In the big bright 2024, does the medal rarely see the light of day. Months spent in preparation prior to the night, May 6. Ideations sketched into poems, poems painted into spoken word, spoken word engraved into minds, May 6 is the night where my ideas were cemented into reality. A team of five eating at Pickleman’s, preparing for what was to come. Complaining about the sandwiches made with seemingly half the effort we would put forth into making our own, cracking jokes about the lemonade, encouraging one another repeating the words enough that night to make it the phrase of the year, ‘We can do it.’We practiced, and practiced, and fought hard to get to where we were. We didn’t even care to win, but we were still winning. All we wanted was to have fun, to put ourselves forth, to put ourselves out there. What started only as a vision became reality, as did the ideas we shared that night. For once, the title ‘Bryan’ meant something to me. The label ‘poetry’ meant something to me. The name ‘Kameron’ meant something to me. After a month of competing did our team make fourth in a statewide competition. Now the medal sits in the bottomless pit I call my backpack, but I swear I can always feel its warmth around my neck again, just like it was the first time.

In all my life, I thought myself handicapped; only possible of losing. Each time I turned a corner, something was happening to me, something I perceived detrimental. I could never understand why I was so misfortunate, never seeing the beauty in pain. Writing isn’t easy,

certainly not creative writing or poetry. At first, I was doing it only because I was talented in the matter. For the first time in my life, I thought I was good at something. But within the loss of passion is the loss of authenticity. I needed a reason, a real reason, a drive. Something to keep me determined in my ability, and to nurture it. I have to say I’ve lived a relatively privileged life, and couldn’t realize it. Sure, I’m not from money. But my people made many ways to keep me happy, unintentionally keeping me blind. I’ve had hardships, but I wanted to know what it was like to work hard. For the first time in my life, I earned something.”