Some days you are a puddle

barely rippling

in the steady breeze,

broken on the edges

where cracks took you away.

These times you will feel defeated,

smaller than the rest

and no matter what you do

it will not make a splash.

Some days you are a stream,

light water and heavy consciousness

breaking through softly padded woods

that mean nothing in the moment.

In this see beauty,

challenging the openness of error,

believe in your own ability

to be change.

Some days you are the ocean

tremendous and holy

bigger than before,

but somehow suffocating 

under the broadening expectations

of your predecessors.

Even then,

send waves,

disrupt the shores

with your voice

and release power with every breath.

There will be days you are a puddle,

but even on those days

you are so much more. 

This poem is about: 
My community
Our world


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