The Breath of a Whistle
Location
I am the breath of a whistle:
the soft pitter-patter of a drizzle.
I am the tears that flow in night,
the laughter in early morning bright.
I am crumpled ideas thrown under beds:
fears hidden inside innocent heads.
I am the tune sung to the steering wheel:
the exhilaration of tasting a decadent meal.
I am the cold sway of sun-beaten grass:
the creaky desk that rests in the class.
I am a small room with no decorations:
a tiny community in a sea of large nations.
I am the forbidden thought of a deep desire,
and moonlit conversations beside the fire.
I am a pen with everlasting ink:
the merry noise of a glass's clink.
I am the white shirt speckled with spots and stains:
the cleansing river, the flood, and the rain.
I am the joy heard at midnight with faces aglow:
the rigid wall that stands to watch children grow.
I am the sorrow that separation provides:
the voice of a friend who yearns to confide.
I am the letters that make up a word:
the wind beneath the wings of the bird.
I am the dips of a bumpy ride,
and the pain that is felt inside.
I am the hot sun on a peaceful afternoon,
yet every night, I battle the moon.
I am all of these: the good, the bad,
the ups, the downs, the frowns, the glad.
I am the blacks, the grays, and all the blues,
the yellows, the whites, and the golden hues.
I am me and no one else.
I've taken so long to understand myself.
But who I am is who I want to be.
I would never be anyone else but me.