Ordinary

I've noticed that I am not beauty.

I am not a gleaming pasture,

Or a deep, wavering wave,

Or a string of a cello.

Still, I had hoped there would be a song written about me,

And that the way my tongue chose to flick against the roof of my mouth might lead to inspiration

But if anything, I understand that I am realistic.

I've noticed that I am only one.

I don’t believe in clear castles or things below the shore line,

But I have an unrelenting faith in my bed.

I put my trust into statistics,

And understand that I am merely a number;

Who likes warn out sneakers and empty red notebooks.

I've noticed I have a fear in words.

In time I have torn down motivational posters,

And built up my wall,

Made of hand crafted gray bricks,

That I splatter paint in my day dreams,

With brighter colors than that found in a newspaper.

I've noticed that I am ok.

That I don’t need skyscrapers to find myself in the clouds,

Or a world to find a plot and build my home.

That I may not stop fires from spreading, but I know how to hold a gardening hose;

And I can’t end a war but I can buy a Band-Aid.

This understanding of normalcy, for me, is simply enough.