1/13/18 – “Sky”
When you’re a kid you look to the sky, dream of things you can do in the world. You hear parents say, “You could be president. You can be anything you want to be.
Reach for the sky.”
I reached and reached and reached, but all I feel is falling.
And this earth hits my back hard
each time I miss the mark.
I don’t succeed at the American dream. If I don’t have a picket fence, a baby at 25, who am I? What do I have to offer? No 401k or salary paycheck.
When Mom said, “Reach for the sky,”
bet she didn’t think I’d be a barista.
I have a dream but it isn’t
babies and BMWs and suburban neighborhoods.
I want to get my hands dirty. Taste the earth as it cradles me. I want to create art that makes people feel alive for a while. I want to plant flowers, appreciate their soil.
Mama, I’m sorry.
I reached and reached and reached
but I fell in love with the fall.