Little things

When I was young, 
I used to sing to God.
It didn't matter that I had the vibrato of a dying pig,
and that all the kids on the yard told me to shut it,
I would belt it for all to hear.
So, you can imagine my disapointment,
to find that God wasn't listening.
That was the day I realized my voice was meager.
Oh well right,
life moves on.
At about telve years old,
I had my first girlfriend.
Despite the fact that I couldn't remember her full name,
I loved her.
Her eyes,
her hair,
but mostly her ideas.
She was something of a silent follower.
She listened but never spoke.
And even though she had her own strengths and her own voice,
I hushed it with the thought of love.
But when it came to it,
and I decided to end it on a whim,
I knew love had never even been in my sights.
But hey,
we remained friends.
They say that when you first get behind the wheel,
it's a freedom.
Like up until that point,
you had never seen the sunrise.
But I disagree,
for me it was growing up.
It was growing out of that stupid kid who couldn't hit the low note.
It was a kick in the face to myself for hurting a girl who I only,
cared about.
And man did I do it.
Every chance I got to climb into my dad's Ranger, I did.
Down back roads and nowherevilles.
I was exctatic.
So damn happy that I was finally growing into myself.
After the years of bullying and breaking down,
I, for the first time, was me.
Then, in a town 200 miles from home,
I drove my redneck father's truck directly into a fence.
And it was there,
and the border between Georgia and Florida that I realized,
I was just that same kid.
Flipping out internally,
but never showing it.
I would not be moved.
So scared of what would happen,
I froze.
Then, something miraculous happened.
My father looked me directly in the eyes and said to me.
"It's only a thing." Of course he was reffering to the truck, but I couldn't
believe that it had escaped me all this time that all everything was,
where just things.
The songs,
the girl,
the truck.
All life is,
is little things.
But those little things, 
are what make us live.
All my life I had been looking at the microsopic events,
and breaking them down to cellular division.
Trying to see where I had gone wrong.
But the words of this very wise man had sunk in, and it finally hit me.
I'm a fifteen year old human.
I'm bound to make mistakes,
and all mistakes are.
Are little things.


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