I'm Short

Yes, I’m short.
I know that. I see myself in the mirror every day and think,
“Oh right, I’m short.”
An obvious fact. Do I look at you and say,
“You’ve got brown hair,”
“You’ve got a mole there,”
“Arm and a leg, you’ve got a pair,”
tell me I’m short, you’re getting the death stare,
I’ll push you down the stairs,
tell me who’s short now when you’re laying there.
I’m only kidding, but I’m the size of a kid-thing.
Point is: You don’t gotta tell me that.
5 foot 5, 5’6” on a good day,
lean on my shoulder and I’ll say,
“Hey, I’m not a table today or yesterday.”
I go to the doctor, doc says you’ll be 5’10” by the time you’re 18.
Now doc, when you told me that, you must’ve been shooting some heroin,
because I’m looking up at this guys who’s 14.
Playing sports, I can’t be a J-Hey,
that’s a baseball reference,
but I can’t rob a ball from over the right field fence.
Basketball? Don’t get me started,
before I even shoot, I may as well have departed.
But.
I take another look in that mirror and see,
this is me and myself,
who cares if I can’t reach the pretzels on the top shelf?
Maybe the person I am today couldn’t have been tall and lanky,
and the only me there is is the one that’s like an unstretched slinky.
That’s all there is. Just be who you are,
whether it’s a short guy with a tuba or a tall guy with a sitar.
No need to retort,
don’t try to be someone else, you’re you, so
don’t sell yourself short.






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