u/XxAesthetic_BearxX

There are bugs in the shower

They cling to the liner
And come out the drain
Momma said it’s cause of the rain

They squirm and dart to the cracks in the walls
Where the mold it grows
I yell at dad from down the hall

Normally dad would kill them but now he’s stalled

But it’s night time now
I want to bathe
But there are bugs in the shower
So I shall not be haste

I quickly shake the curtain
I flinch because I am uncertain
Is that a roach or just the mold growin

I step into the shower
Unlike most I know I’m not alone
With each step the floor beneath me groans

Louder and louder each waking step
I am worried they are in the corners watching
Waiting for me to slip up and forget

About the bugs in the shower

But I never do
They crawl on the walls
Even if I was blind
I would know
every
position
of them
all

I feel trapped like a child, I feel like I have so much to say but can never get words out correctly, I want to say my opinion, on what, I guess everything, I want the world to see what it actually means to grow up in poverty, get into a good school, get a full rides for needs based, and feel like you still are playing a childs game against adults, the other kids are mean- they think i just grew up poor because im ‘“trashy”, they dont understand that dad was working 14 hour days- i understand- its because a white girl has no excuse for being poor, but is it different when her dad is hispanic do you feel bad for her now? 

When I wake up in the morning, I drag my bare white feet on the vinyl flooring of my bedroom floor. The textures of the carpet inside these 4 walls are all too familiar. I could close my eyes for centuries and navigate every crack, bump, and knick of this very house. I reach for the doorknob; I don’t need to turn it for the hidden passage to come into my gaze. The doorknob has been broken for 5 years. I step on the older wooden flooring of my kitchen and make my way down a quiet hall. As I pass the stove, it flashes “6:14 am” in a light, almost neon green hue- it's comforting, in a way nobody but me and my sister would understand. I don't care that the front right burner has perpetually burnt food on it; neither does she. My bare feet are cold as the textures change my senses still calm its the bathroom floor- I turn on the light switch and look in the mirror- a white girl looks back at me- i’ve known her my whole life, she is pale, she is skinny, she is me, and i am her, i know everything she knows, and nothing she doesn't. I know true fear because her mind created it. I know everything she has ever cried about. I know her dad is illegal, but that is something the world would never guess- because she is me, and I am just another skinny white girl whose bare white feet are sitting atop the tile, wood, and vinyl her own father laid, after coming from the fields in which he labored all day.

When I wake up in the morning, I drag my bare white feet on the vinyl flooring of my bedroom floor. The textures of the carpet inside these 4 walls are all too familiar. I could close my eyes for centuries and navigate every crack, bump, and knick of this very house. I reach for the doorknob; I don’t need to turn it for the hidden passage to come into my gaze. The doorknob has been broken for 5 years. I step on the older wooden flooring of my kitchen and make my way down a quiet hall. As I pass the stove, it flashes “6:14 am” in a light, almost neon green hue- it's comforting, in a way nobody but me and my sister would understand. I don't care that the front right burner has perpetually burnt food on it; neither does she. My bare feet are cold as the textures change my senses still calm its the bathroom floor- I turn on the light switch and look in the mirror- a white girl looks back at me- i’ve known her my whole life, she is pale, she is skinny, she is me, and i am her, i know everything she knows, and nothing she doesn't. I know true fear because her mind created it. I know everything she has ever cried about. I know her dad is illegal, but that is something the world would never guess- because she is me, and I am just another skinny white girl whose bare white feet are sitting atop the tile, wood, and vinyl her own father laid, after coming from the fields in which he labored all day.

Property of The University of South Carolina - Field Note Journal
Crew Member #3

Veronica Blackwell
09/1999 - “PEDU 150 - USC”

Day 1 (2:30 pm) - I boarded the university’s charter boat at the private dock this afternoon, and Professor Mendez said we would be taking daily field notes for the next 7 days along the coast. For the first entry, he wanted a short bio and an explanation of why I took this class, which seems rude considering I would rather describe the way the boat creaks every time it shifts in the water.

So, hello, whoever the T.A. is who will eventually read this. My name is Veronica Blackwell, if you cannot tell from my scratchy Sharpie writing on the notebook cover. I am a junior at USC, and I am a Dance major. I know what you are thinking, but I signed up for this class to get out of my comfort zone, and because the ballet studio is being remodeled and I refuse to take chemistry. So far the ride has been smooth enough, though the air off the Atlantic is hot and wet and makes everything feel slightly off. There are 7 other students on board besides Professor Mendez and me: my roommate Jamie, Trisha, and 5 boys whose names I am still trying to keep straight. Trisha seems sweet. Jamie says I am being dramatic. Maybe I am. Either way, the boat is too small, the cabin is too cramped, and it already feels like there are not enough places to stand without getting in someone’s way. Mendez said we are headed south, and our final stop for today is Capers Island, a short 2-hour ride. We are supposed to dock there for the afternoon and do a lesson on the island. He chose a remote island first, which makes sense in theory, but he said it like he expected us to be back on the boat before dark. I did not like that. I do not know why. - Veronica

Day 1 - FIELD NOTES got to Capers Island, unloaded gear on the beach, collected shells along the shoreline noted shell types, size, color, and shape, found broken shells mixed in w/ sand & driftwood walked the marsh edge and checked tide line saw bird tracks and signs of erosion recorded wind, weather, and water level, talked about how shells can show what lives nearby
learned barrier islands change w/ storms & tides packed up before sunset

Day 1 (10:45 pm) I am in the cabin now, and Trisha is still up on the top deck playing poker with a couple of the guys. The boat is small, and the cabin is cramped, so I am hoping this T.A. does not mind me using this journal as basically a diary. The sun was brutal outside today, and even though I tried to pay attention to Professor Mendez, I am clearly not a STEM girl. Still, I did manage to catch a few things. We got to Capers Island this afternoon, and the first thing we did was unload gear and look at the shoreline. The beach was covered in shells, driftwood, and patches of dune grass, and Mendez had us note the shape, size, and color of the shells since they can tell you a lot about what lives nearby. I met this boy named Graham too — he says he has been boating for years and only took this class for easy credit, which I am hoping is true, because he seems confident about literally everything. Most of the people are nice so far, even if the whole boat situation is a little much already. - Veronica

Day 2 (6:30 am) I woke up at 4:00 this morning when Trisha shook me awake because apparently one of the boys fell overboard. I was half asleep when I rushed up to the deck with a flashlight and tried to shine it across the water, while Mendez and Jamie were already out in a raft searching. It was dark and humid, and the waves kept slapping the side of the boat like they were trying to put me back to sleep, but nobody was sleeping after that. Mendez had explained yesterday that the shore around Capers can change fast, with steep drops near the water, so I guess that matters now more than ever. They did find Vince after he had been in the water for about 20 minutes. He is lucky to be alive. The man was completely shitfaced when they finally got him back on board, which is probably not something I should say in an academic journal, but this is turning into one anyway. - Veronica

Day 2 (8:45 am) I went back to sleep for just a bit longer after that situation early this morning, since there was not much else I could do once Vince was finally safe and tucked into a warm bed. He is fine now, or at least as fine as someone can be after falling overboard in the middle of the night, but Mendez still said we have class today. Apparently, unlike yesterday, most of it is going to be spent sailing, which means Graham is in charge of the actual steering and handling of the boat. Of course he is. He is one of the only people here with a boat license, so I suppose that makes him feel very important. I thought this class was supposed to be an intro to marine life, not a chance for him to act like he owns the whole vessel. Showoff. I do not know if it was Graham or the captain, but one of them said Vince had probably been in the water longer than we thought, like they had already decided that before anyone asked. That is what is bothering me now. Not that Vince fell in, but that somebody seemed to know how long he had been gone before they ever checked.- Veronica