Home Room
A poem by Nickie · May 13, 2026
When I was in 3rd grade
Home Room,
A girl asked me why
I was so dressed up.
There I stood,
In my mother's fashionable hand-me-downs,
A blue floral tank top and denim skirt,
My lips unable to form a response,
Exposed.
She flashed a triumphant yellow grin,
Arms folded over her sparkling Justice
T-shirt and matching pants,
Clothes neither my body nor my
Parents' wallet would let me wear.
Now over 20 years later,
I still remember
The question,
The outfit,
The classroom,
The fiery schoolyard retort my mom told me to say next time:
(Why are you so underdressed?)
But,
I cannot remember
How I actually responded.
I remember standing silent
In the face of
The first time I'd ever been told
I'm unworthy of something.
The first chip out of the stone
That's now the cracked foundation
Of my self-worth.
