Society Calls Me by Patricia Nwoko (West Virginia, 17)

When I was 8,
society showed me that I could be unstoppable.
That the world could be mine to command
and the moon mine to capture.
That even if I overshot the moon,
fingertips barely brushing past igneous,
the stars would be there to catch me,
engulfing me in starlight and acceptance.
At 8, I called myself limitless.

And at 9,
they called me delicate.
Through eyes instead of tongues,
skimming over my raised hand,
and bypassing the wrist flicking and unconscious bouncing,
Scanning the room for a “strong boy,”
Someone who didn’t crack under the pressure of a broken nail.
At 9 years old, they told me I was weak.

But, when I was 10,
they showed me I could be intelligent.
Gave me the taste of an A+
and the rush of that 100%.
Instilled an insatiable curiosity,
only satisfied by answers and worksheets.
Until I knew knowledge,
I did not know I was starving.
At 10, I called myself savvy.

​And at 11,
they called me scandalous.
Told me that shoulders grabbed eyes
like bait hooked fish,
and math was made difficult
by above-the-knee dresses.
They taught me about spaghetti straps instead of times tables,
lectured me until skirts gave way to sweatpants and camis to cardigans.
At 11 years old, they reduced me down to a distraction.

But, when I was 12,
they showed me I could be innocent.
That the “pre” before the “teen” could mean anything,
like Disney movies and theme parks.
Granted me kids’ meals
and the feeling of flying high on the swings,
the freedom of almost being something.
At 12, I called myself at ease.

And at 13,
They called me taboo.
Told me that pads were meant to be tucked in shirt sleeves,
smuggled in pockets and backpacks.
Told me that my pain was a mockery,
and period, a means of profiting.
“And God don’t get so angry, you’re just being moody.”
At 13 years old, I was just “pms-ing.”

But, when I was 14,
they showed me I could be optimistic.
That life could be unburdened by responsibility,
and hands unkissed by calluses.
They showed me I could have friends and dreams.
A life like magazines
and teen beach movies.
Showed me that life was like lemonade on hot days,
savored and shared to ease the enduring.
At 14, I called myself upbeat.

And at 15,
they called me baby.
Their whistles like whiplash,
stares like spotlights,
making minutes into miles down empty streets:
adolescence slipped away with every catcall.
Adulthood crashed in with waves of shame I carried home with me in my school bag.
Shame that should have been theirs to carry instead of mine,
shame that should have marked them with humiliation instead of me with memory.
At 15 years old, they called me honey and
somehow I was the one left feeling kind of sickly.

But, when I was 16,
they showed me that I could be free.
That keys could jingle like open roads
and cars could smell like new beginnings,
and my future was molded to my fingertips,
and the rest of my life was mine to form--
that I was a touch away from the American dream.
At 16, I called myself liberty.

And at 17,
they called me female,
reduced me down to that molecular biology,
stripped me away of that autonomy and humanity
before I even hit 18.
At 17 years old, I became just a body, a species.
​
I am sick of what they call me,
the words they slung to reduce my ability.
The things I am so opposed to.
I am so opposed to what they see,
So opposed to what I know I can be.
I am so much more than just
weak.
So much more than just a
distraction.
So much more than just
moody.
So much more than just
your baby.
I am a million and one more things than
what society has to call me.





Patricia Nwoko (she/her) is a Black poet and writer. She writes poems that are true to her lived experience in regards to womanhood, race, and being a young person in a world destined for entropy. When not writing, she can be found thinking about how she should be writing and feeling embarrassed over being perceived.