Mastered

 The tassel swings, the robe is pressed,

A journey etched upon my chest.
Not just the books, the tests, the grind—
But every doubt I left behind.

Late nights stacked high like unread tomes,
A borrowed desk, a mind far from home.
Coffee-stained dreams, imposter fears,
Threaded through these learning years.

I questioned can I?, answered yes,
Though some days felt like wilderness.
But here I stand, both scarred and proud,
My name called out above the crowd.

This paper—more than ink and seal—
It holds the sweat I couldn’t feel
When buried deep in work and will,
And holding on by sheerest skill.

It’s for the ones who came before,
Who opened books, and not just doors.
And for the future paths I’ll pave,
Armed now with all the strength I gave.

A master’s not an end, but key—
To deeper growth, to setting free
The voice I honed in every class—
The self I built to boldly pass.

So let the tassels turn with grace,
And time carve lines upon this face.
I earned this day—no luck, no guess—
I am the work that led to yes.