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