gratitude
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a prose
my gratitude looks like thanking the hairs i find on my pillow for once being a part of you. like embracing the pain from a newly formed callus found only on the middle finger of my writing hand after i grip the hard plastic of a pen. like thanking my towel — even when it isn’t sunday. like nuzzling my face in its softness and letting it absorb yesterday’s worries — i thank it for that as well. i congratulate my eyes for letting every last tear out even when i was set against letting them flow. my gratitude looks like cradling ebonics in the gaps left by painfully pulled wisdom teeth and coating the world with my imagery in its honor. it’s stilling my soul so that the earth can continue thriving even if it makes my existence in this form finite. it looks like choosing myself every time with a little of you on the side. it’s thanking my father for his sacrifices with honesty and my mother with loyalty. it’s saying i love you to my siblings and a heartfelt thank you to every last one of my readers.
thank you for reading my work.
if you liked this piece, you’ll love this one.
