I know a girl whose cheeks are grey
with sour boredom.
It’s as if gravity holds
her mood hostage
pulling her down into her ankle bones.
I want to yell and shock her
paint her hot pink
and say the perfect thing
to crack her open.
I want to make her fall in love
with the heaviness that pulls her eyelids shut
that rain brings puddles
and tulips.
Because life wouldn’t persist
if it wasn’t taunted.
Even a blade of grass needs to disobey
the heaviness.
There is glory,
that grass teaches us,
in simply
growing up.