I am what I am.
Not the best, and certainly
not the worse.
Stuck in the middle, or hiding there,
like Miss Schroeder ‘my ninth grade teacher'
told my mom.
Comfortably waiting to move up or down a slot,
as conditions deem necessary.
Though more than willing to stay put forever.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem