The teacher hands me back my copy
Of the standardized test
Right hand corner
Defaced with red pen
Seventy-two percent.

I know from experience
Kids will cry tonight
Disappointment etching the corners of their parent’s mouths
Students asking their pillows
What part of them isn’t working correctly.

I wonder if I multiply
The number of hugs I give in a day
By the number of times I smile at strangers
If I will find a more accurate number
To describe myself.

Or maybe I need to add
The amount that I am loved by my friends
To how well I take a compliment,
But only if you simultaneously
Consider my humility.

And If I subtract the number of hours
I spend studying
From the number of things
Your standardized test will never measure
The answer will still be in the thousands.

What I want to remind my teacher
When she gives the class a lecture about our grades
Is that her tests to do not measure my intelligence.
My inability to memorize facts and figures
Does not make me stupid.

Most importantly
A meaningless percentage will never represent
My worth as a human being
Because I am so much more
Than a grade on her test.