Measuring Tape

there's violence in that word: more

the way it stretches like a horizon

always receding, never reached

never enough

I wore it like armor once,

collecting possibilities like broken glass—

sharp edges glinting with promise

cutting deeper with each grasp

but tonight

under a sky indifferent to ambition

I plant my feet in the soil of now

and feel how the earth holds me

without asking for growth

let the wild roses bloom

or not

let the moon wax

or wane

let this breath be

exactly what it is

I am not a vessel waiting to be filled

not a sketch waiting for color

not a sentence trailing into

endless ellipsis...

I am the period at the end

of a complete thought.

full stop.

present tense.

here.

and oh,

how the weight lifts

when you stop

trying to outgrow

your own skin