I'm different

      

Wandering through this town,
I feel the breeze rushing,
Brushing against my hair and shirt.
It makes me hold onto the ground tighter—
A reminder that, even as a dead weight,
I’m not as heavy as I believe.

I feel the rain,
Soaking into my pants,
Dripping from my face,
Running down my body.
It whispers—
Whispers that there’s still more I can absorb within.

I hear the birds,
Their melancholic tune,
The meaningful sounds they make.
I become a listener to their song,
And it tells me:
If someone truly wants to,
They’ll listen, even if they don’t understand.

I listen to myself—
To my dreadful voice,
To my deafening thoughts.
I’m not like this town.
I may not be as heavy as I think,
I may still have room to soak up more,
But I am no bird—
A bird, free to sing.
A bird bestowed the benefit of a listener.