Statistics

You predicted that I'd be a failure,
someone who would get nowhere in life.
You said I'd be a juvenile delinquent,
an infamous thief during the night.
You told me that my mother would give up on me,
but only after she gave up on herself first.
You told me that my voice would be ­insignificant,
way too ignorant to be heard.
You said I'd be living in poverty
because my mother wouldn't come close to being strong,
but in the year of 2009, statistics,
I'm afraid you are clearly wrong.
Yes, my mother may have been hit by the ­recession,
and, yes, my mother may have been hit with the depression,
but you should also know that the things that disrupt her goals
also awaken her raging aggression.
She pledged a long time ago that she wouldn't become another statistic;
she knew she would always be strong enough to withstand one,
even if by the criteria she barely missed it.
My mother worked hard and never fell short of success
and that's one reason I know I was raised by one of the best!
I am a well-taken-care-of young lady of a ­single-parent home
and I refuse to be raked through with your scrutinizing comb.
I was born to win;
I am in control,
not your statistics.
I am proud to be a child of a single-parent home.