Some Things Aren't Meant To Be

Sitting on the front steps
waiting for dinner,
I counted blue cars
then I counted red.

I envied
an arrow of geese
floating overhead.
Could I fly
if I believed enough?

I walked to the end
of the porch stoop
straightened my dress,
flapped my arms, and jumped.

Landing on the ground
with a thud,
I brushed grass and dirt
from my skirt and knees.

Birds can fly. I can't.
I wonder
if I kiss my elbow
will I become a boy?

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