Adam Wilson, M4, Class of 2026
Ninety percent answered correctly I read,
I roll my eyes, inhale, and count to three.
One…
Two…
Unheard but felt— nails on the board,
Hands cup my face to play the chord.
Another deep breath to quiet the thoughts, and
One…
Two…
Click away from the site,
Some fleeting digital salve for my plight.
Each answer marked wrong,
A dagger in my chest,
A sneering inner song,
That argues for my stress.
I struggle beneath the weight of the count,
Chalk tally marks in endless rows,
Proof of how little I truly amount,
Fuel for the critic who always knows.
What makes the greater fool of me?
To dwell on how I get things wrong,
Or let myself just breathe—
One…
Two…
I wipe the board clean,
And finally, count to three.
Med Intima 