Where others my age
Keep hard-won degrees,
On my wall is a framed photograph.
My honors are buried under the skin;
My flesh is canvas for a patchwork diploma.

Former classmates’ wallets
Are now stuffed with photos
Of spouses and offspring–
I have 13 metal rings
Which i carry with me everywhere,
Cared for like small children.

Houses in the suburbs
Are another’s lot;
My white picket fence
Could be made of pins
Stuck through cities on a map
Of the world.

If i died at 25
I would pass silently
By the measure of their ears,
But i have left my mark on the world–
I have screamed out
With some meaning:
Photos
Scars
Laughter
Poems
–these things are as ephemeral
as knowledge, as family, as permanence.