If I could stop the clock, I think to myself—
(Just as I always do in the moments I feel I am lagging behind the crowd—which is always, these days)
I could catch up to my ever-demanding expectations.
I want the gold medal, you see; I want to stand on the podium, right at the top—the very most, upper-most top—and hold the weight of winning in my hands—and if there was a crown, I’d wear that, too,
And in the glimmer that reflects off of my white, smiling teeth, I’d know that everything little thing is going to be okay—
And, that because I was built this-particular-way, because God believed in me and I believed in myself, that my every action and every breath could help save this world we live in.
It doesn’t happen like this anywhere but my own imagination and if a window seat can be found, you’ll find me there, my gaze like a Sunday afternoon nap, day-dreaming of the difference I’ll make in the world.
Two steps forward, ten steps back and in the groove of falling back, an invisibility cloak has wrapped her way around me so that even as I take my conch shell to my lips to make the call, no sound comes out, for I can’t been seen, nor heard, nor felt—
But in the space between my ears, there is a thunder that rattles my shell as my heart beats larger than life.