BY ANGEL, N.

Read out loud on Thursday. 

I move through my day carrying everything that made me — 

my family, my past, the things I’ve seen, 

the things I’m still trying to grow out of. 

All that walks with me, 

even when I’m just trying to get my work done. 

I’m 37 now, a Black African woman from Youngstown, Ohio, 

built from steel-town grit and the warmth of people who raised me. 

I carry the girl I was and the woman I’m becoming — 

the mother who colors beside her daughter, 

who finds peace fishing, riding her bike, 

laughing at the movies, strolling the mall, 

and holding tight to the joy of family. 

I carry my dreams, too — 

starting my own candy business, 

earning my CNA certification, 

building a life that tastes sweeter than the one before. 

Everything I’ve lived, everything I love, 

everything I’m reaching for — 

it all moves with me. 

They say, “Write what’s true.” 

But truth isn’t always easy to put on paper. 

It’s mixed with what I like, what I don’t say, 

and the stuff I’m still figuring out about myself.

My page won’t look like anybody else’s. 

It’s shaped by where I come from, 

the music I play, 

the people I take care of, 

and the way I move through the world. 

But it’s real. 

It’s mine. 

And if someone reads it, 

they’ll carry a little piece of me — 

the same way I carry pieces of everybody I meet, 

whether I want to or not.