I am the anatomy of wind
hateful and gentle.
I am roots and trees growing like a newborn
dream.
A flower without bees blooming
unapologetically.
The spores of a dandelion
lost and free.
I am a walking lie filled to the brim
with truth.
I am blackberries in June
a talking wound, scabbed and healing.
Wildflowers busting through concrete cracks
unseen and breathtaking.
A four leaf clover on Interstate 65, lucky
to be alive.
I am living proof that there is still
room in this world for me.