In this city, my worth is measured in numbers.
In decimals on a report card
In a percentage upon hundred.
In distance covered during trainings
In seconds on a stopwatch.
In positions at competitions
In hours spent working.
In dollars earned an hour
In digits in my bank account.
In this city, my worth is measured by people.
By teachers splottering red ink
By parents wrought with sighs and grief
By friends investing time and gifts.
By spectators watching the race
By likes per minute on an insta feed
By followers retweating my tweets.
By you, through your colorblind eyes.
In this city, my worth lies in your hands.
In this city, life is not worth living.