god refused to develop my sickly, brittle body
but instead chose to grow my shadow 10x in size

jet black and enormous. his head knocks into a weak moon
making it sway for a bit. threatening to knock it out of the sky 

he’s so wide that he sweeps the cigarette butts on the street
into the drainpipes as i walk. i’ve always envied him.

as a child found out flames don’t have shadows.
as a child just knew i would grow.