The following poem was written by Mandy Osuji who is an eighth-grader at Viking Middle School.

We know,
scientifically,
we are mostly
empty space.
Someone invested in
technicalities
could prove this.
But I say,
your data?
the diagrams, percentages, graphs, and theories
you have spent years collecting?
Throw it into the wind.
Let the breeze carry your desultory, useless facts away.
There is so much more
than research.
There is more than the 12-point
Times New Roman you use to prove your
incorrect theses.

Like the words that flow from our fingertips.
Or even more, what they mean.
The flighty emotions we have tried, and failed,
to trap under our tongues.

Like the music notes that stick to our soul,
magnetically, like a blanket swaddling
something precious,
saying, this is mine,
I will not let go.

Like the sunrise that never fails.
A yellow orb,
getting up each morning and
infusing our bones with the notion
that we can do the same.
Or the sunset,
closing each day, if only
with the promise that the night
will be as beautiful.

Like snow,
falling hole punch remains.
Parting like a beaded curtain
for those willing to withstand the cold.

Like love.
The butterflies in our stomach,
that airy feeling in the place where our heart is,
if the data-collectors are correct.
Love.
The inadequate word we have given
to the feelings that rob us of oxygen.

So the scientists are wrong.
Our heart doesn’t contain only blood,
four chambers aren’t enough to hold
the swooping butterflies.
Don’t let the clipboard-holders
convince you.
You are not empty space.