As though it were written on my forehead,
my mother measures me in the weight of it
it is in my bones, whittled away by bad blood
and chipped by my choices.
As though it were my name,
inadvertently, my mother whispers this new name
to me as she bids me good night,
Another year without a degree?
When are you graduating again?
What is your major again?
What can you do with English again?
all are the same
I am not enough.