Made to Thrive

Sometimes I get tired of life

but life never gets tired of me.

I throw my hands up and

demand, “That’s enough,”

no more messing with me.

Life simply takes that as a challenge

to step up its game.

Just picks me up in one delicate grasp

of thumb and forefinger,

tosses me high,

and it’s back through the wringer again.

What can I say?

All this grasping, clawing,

fighting, resisting,

just proves that I am

still alive

and kicking.

That’s something to be grateful for.

My sense of justice,

of indomitable resistance,

that won’t quite be snuffed out,

proves to my world-weary self that

something inside of me

still craves the sweet tang of vitality,

savors the pulse of beating, breathing aliveness,

won’t go quietly into the dark.

My wasted mind recognizes

the fleeting wisps of fizzy fight

mingled with

the flat dregs of failure

and strains out every last drop

into an elixir of survival.

My innate humanity fights for survival,

and that’s something to be grateful for.

Because that need to survive won’t be satisfied

until I’ve risen from the depths,

remade into something new and bold.

I won’t just survive.

I’m made to thrive.