“I” is a skinny, feeble letter.
It doesn’t look like it can hold much.
Out of all the other letters, it is the most simple and fragile – a little line.
Nevertheless, my “I” was drawn with a firm hand and strong graphite.
My “I” will bear weight.
Because my “I” was built on a strong foundation of love and care, surrounded by acceptance and tolerance, with a soft field of grass and clean water to cushion any fall.
My “I” does not bend or wobble, for it was told at a young age to stretch and rise and learn and express and climb higher and think critically and form opinions and never, ever give up. By a
mother.
But not all “I”s are shaped like mine.
Some “I”s grow out of dry earth – a hostile earth with muddy water and withering trees.
Some “I”s are made where hands of terrorism grip pencils of hate and violence. Oppression and injustice keep some from growing tall.
Some bend, others snap.
Others are never drawn at all.
Can my “I” carry enough?
To make up for what others cannot?
Can I?
I
