Loud.

I’ve been told that my circumstances will have me thrown into a bowl of “you will never be’s”

I’ve been told that I will never be able to turn my face proudly to the sun without feeling the guilt of the shadows that fall at my feet

They’ve always said that my feet would always bare the weight of imperfection

           but beneath my skin I feel the tingle of passion

Do you think a daisy mourns for the loss of its petals after it’s season has come and gone?

Do you think a dusty windowpane screeches in delight when rays of light find the courage to stretch out to its unwanted corners?

I know what its like to feel the sting of rejection

I know what it’s like to have callus’ form on the tip of your soul from dancing with the “I could’ve been.”

I know that our souls are filled with harmonicas and when we let go of the harsh conductor that always tried to hold us back there is a symphony

 

Loud.

Undeniable.

 

I am your favorite line in a song

Where the flute perfectly dances off of the sheet music and into the air around you, bursting colors

I am the first taste of coffee on a Monday morning, swimming on your tongue

Whispering “Just do your best today.”

I am the book resting beneath the leg of an uneven kitchen table

Tattered but promising to keep you steady

I am the flower that budded too early, giving everyone a peek of a fresh season

The rock that holds the love letter through your bedroom window at 3 AM

I am the first crack in the spine of a new book

Bent, not broken

The gold flakes that catch your eye in an October sunset

The 32 exact freckles that find their home across the plane of your cheeks

The lightening strike in the middle of the ocean

 

Loud.

Undeniable.

 

I am your favorite flower, growing between the cracks of your front porch

I am the fall leaf turning auburn and falling in love with the ground

The winter snowflakes resting on your eyelashes, refusing to melt away

The summer sun soaking into your glistening skin

The sharpie that refuses to be erased

I am a tattoo of the coordinates of your grandmothers resting place

I am the million things they said I would never be

 

Loud.

Undeniable.

This poem is about: 
Me

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