reach

Reach

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As the droplets of my thoughts decide to randomly go skydiving,

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they ricochet off the walls of my mind,

land in cracks they weren’t invited to,

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or evaporate before hitting anything at all.

There’s beauty in being a stubborn weed:

in pushing through cement when nothing asks you to,

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in finding yellow in the middle of blue,

in swaying while your leaves are plucked,

in choosing the sun even when the clouds linger.

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I drink the rain that falls without apology,

grow taller even as the days lose their color,

see blurry shapes and still call them colors—

still call myself alive.

And that’s enough.

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Proof that even in gray light,

even when the wind tries to erase me,

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I reach.