Paintdrops, Rooftops, and Poetry

I am not a poet, and I cannot draw
But I will read lines of great writers, and will stare at the brush strokes of Monet and Degas until the sun sets below the horizon.


I don’t like heights, and I am afraid of the ocean
But I will stare up at the moon from below and make wishes on stars. 
I will put my toes in the waves and choose shells for my collection that my soul will forever hold close.


I don’t like the rain, and I am scared of the darkness
But I will sit at a window and trace the path of the water with my fingertips. I will whisper my secrets into the shadows and feel safe in knowing that they can never be repeated. 


I may not be talented with a paintbrush, but I will still use words to paint a picture. 
I may not like heights, but I will still dream of sitting on fire escapes in New York and feeling the breeze on my bare cheeks. 
I may be afraid of the ocean, but I will stare in wonder as the waves move forward and back, forward and back, foward and back.
I may not like rain, but when it ends I will still jump into puddles and twirl my umbrella in my hands.
I may be scared of the darkness, but I still know that it brings the stars. 


I may not be a poet, but I will still try.