Four feet eleven inches.
Shorter than everybody.
Shorter than my role models.
Shorter than my enemies.
Shorter than my three younger siblings.
It took me a while to realize
I was the only one who cared.
I was the only one frustrated
by how close my seat was to the gas pedal.
I was the only one bothered
by asking a stranger for a box of cereal from the top shelf.
I felt everybody looking down at me.
So I gave them reason to keep looking.
I found a new approach on my tip toes.
Stole attention with my ideas.
Wrote as if each word kept me from disappearing.
Decided every risk I took would give me another inch.
Dared myself to grow.
Picked up a pen every time small meant less.
Revised expectations.
Started making plans.
I'll challenge assumptions with a tweet.
Use their perspective as my punchline.
Gonna crack jokes on air, live from Studio 8H.
I'll interrupt their podcast, blow up in their feed,
Change the game with a manifesto.
Stream it on ESPN.
Yeah, screw their experience, their status, their stature.
Give me a stage, I'll lower the mic.
Put on a show.
Call it
