Poem: "Stabbing My Chest with a Paper Airplane"

What were you looking at
in that paper airplane?

It was white,
it was light,
and though it dies so easily,

only its tip
was perfectly sharp—
how unfair.

The pitch-black
pathway chart
of a lottery,

no matter which line you follow,
it leads to adulthood.

I'll take all of that
and
with a red crayon,
scribble it all into a mess.

Stop right here,
stay put.

Even when the bell rings,
don't go home.

Deep inside your black school bag,
fold up the future
and tuck it away.

Put a little X
over your mouth,

and like a good child,
stay silent.

Say it perfectly:
"I am still
a child."

Hey,
keep smiling,

so that the adults
won't ever find you.

With that pure white paper airplane
still stabbing your chest,

what were you looking at?
In that paper airplane,

what were you looking at?
At me.