Chioma Nwafor

Flourish

'The conversation well-being or mental health in context of students, particularly in higher education can usually see the how the economic environment, cultural, social, cultural and social structure impact their university experience overall [1]. The experience of a student from a black and ethnic minority background and subsections such those that are part of the lesbian, gay, bisexual, transexual and other sexualities (LGBTQ+) and disabled are likely to experience an enhanced version of these struggles. My spoken word poem ‘Flourish’ aims to give an insight and explore how the structure of higher education can have biases towards how the well-being, in this poem, black students has been rooted as a barrier and lead to their potential failure.'

Flourish

I did nothing wrong to them.

They set a trap for me, wanting to see me fall and fail.

Their doubt in my success and the anticipation for me to fail did not require them to speak the words but the odour of their hesitancy lingers in the air long enough to inhale, choking out any self-belief left inside of me.

Crowds of my thoughts gather to search for the imposter that was among us.

Is it the version of me that pretended her way to a prestigious institute? Or the one who’s family believes she will be the one to finally defeat waves of privilege that they found themselves wiped out to?

Pressure of what is expected of me continuously mounting. The Everest of my issues looking at me as I wonder if I could endure to defeat the harsh altitudes of failure, panic attacks and trauma that freeze my inside or the storms of microaggression, discrimination and inequality that leave me numb, unable to speak.

Why should I pay the ticket for the understanding of my psychological clashes? Making my wellbeing become a game of lottery, hoping with just the right amount of luck I will cash out on prize that is the relief of therapy from someone who actually cares.

Your confusion to why my identity causes mental health issues, why my name can be used as joke at the expense of my inclusion or why perception of me before I even speak forces me to edit myself to shift your thoughts and escape the judgement, just for you to paste a format of help that only matches the destination of whiteness.

You want me to digest the prescription of your placebo, thinking you have cured me of my complaint, but you’ve left me with a tolerance to live with the disorder of my mind. The cola of my being was allowed to take in the mentos that is your mock-up support and leaving me bubble brink to an eruption.

They say good things come to those who wait, but the weight of this dilemma of mental health or completion of this course, carried by black student slowing us down in the race and widen the gap that they already had a head start to.

This institute is supposed to be for us, but your actions to our issues is nothing more than a mime. Your silence forces us to script a different storyline to wellbeing, casting people who we can identify with allowing us to direct how we truly feel.

This battle may not end with me, but through your choices only powered my resistance.

One day we may finally join forces as allies, for you be at the service of all students.

I did nothing wrong to you.

You set a trap for me, wanting to see me fall and fail.

But instead, you’ve pushed me to fight and flourish.