I am often not who I think I am.
When I was in 6th grade I counted birds
out of the bus window on my way to school.
I dreamed about flying as much as falling from high places.
Today the lunch lady smiled back
when I said: "thank you".
Today, music resonated from the cardboard speakers
like a tired bee
and became little more than my miracle.
He is a flash of wild hair and flailing arms
and freedom that washes away down the white hallway,
flooding every imprisoned brick with electric orange.
If he was a paint color his name would be "Awake".
I wanted to join him.
I wanted to find joy in simplicities,
like cafeteria music on a Monday afternoon.
He probably used to count birds too.
He has already become my lighthouse.
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- Sprout
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