Which Side I'm On

I drove past my old high school

and saw a soccer field,

bright white chalk line

dividing the field.

The chalk line was so certain,

dividing the people who belonged

from everyone else.

I stood at the fence

and watched them practice,

watched the grass worn down

where they'd been allowed to run,

to be loud,

to matter.

I was always on the wrong side of lines like this.

Not athletic enough.

Not social enough.

Not the kind of girl

who got picked.

The chalk was bright.

Certain.

Sure about which side was worth something.

I wanted to cross it.

I wanted to be the kind of person

someone ran toward,

someone counted on.

But I stood at the fence

and I never made it across.

The chalk line is still there,

drawn fresh every season,

making sure everyone knows

exactly which side they belong on.

I'm still standing on the wrong side.