life is a film.
a moving picture, a series
of moments whipping by in a blur
of color and sound and energy and emotions, and we-
we're the characters;
and sometimes i lament how different
i am from the dancer girl, the boy who plays
volleyball, the man who runs fast as the wind, the
woman who can stretch her legs over her shoulders.
but life has to be complete in one take;
no do-overs or turn arounds, no second guessing or third chances.
and so-
so what does it matter if i have two left feet,
if i can't catch a ball,
if i'm as unfit as a bear awakening from a six-month long slumber?
what does it matter if i don't know
the reasons for the leaves changing color in the fall,
if i can't do a perfect split,
if sometimes i trip over my own feet and struggle to keep up
when someone speaks about economies of scale or supply and demand?
why does what i can't do matter
if for what it counts i can
weave words together like pearls on a string,
thread a song together from a single chord,
let my voice glide over notes like a stream caresses the stones it passes?
why do i have to force my feet to dance
if my mind can do it for me?
why can't i express myself through black and white keys
or six metal strings instead of leaping through the air
like a phoenix rising from ashes that weren't there in the beginning?
and maybe-
maybe there are things i cannot do,
maybe i'm different from you, maybe
in your world it's better to dance than to sing
but in mine, where i bleed words and stars and music and galaxies and diamonds,
i am enough.