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The Day I Forgot How To Underdog
Underdog: (verb) "A high swing wherin the person pushing the swing runs beneath the swing while the person being pushed is ath the forward limit of the arc."
Today, I forgot how to underdog.
My brother asked me.
"Give me an underdog?"
My brian was racked, conjuring the memory of "underdog" like a long used and long lost data file.
The wind was hot, and the grass smelled the way it does directly after being cut.
This file was not yet in reach.
My hair was stickily stuck to my face, and I forgot how to underdog.
I was thrown into a trance.
My brother's confusion was sprawled across his face, like a proud spider in her web.
Underdog. Underdog. Retrieving. Underdog.
It all comes back.
With a sweep of the midsummer breeze, I remember.
A push, a swing, an underdog.
I'd been blinded.
Blinded by my maturity, so called.
Blinded completely by my nature, an instinct of humans.
The nature to grow.
To grow up.
To age, and forget.
To live no more in the moment.
To lose the love of narrowly missing the blazing sun with your feet as you flew into the sky.
To forget how to underdog.
To instead, plan ahead.
I push, and I break away from it all.
No more fears of arbitrary woes.
I want underdog.
I want youth.
The wild fun.
I ran, like a rocket.
The air guiding, flowing in the same direction, encouraging me forward.
Arms outstretched, carried with the excitement of my revelation.
I will no longer be blinded.
Nor consumed by the weight of my feet being pulled to the ground.
I will be no more blinded completely.
Nor trapped to the Earth by a society who demands I do so.
I will learn again to care for what I once was inseparable.
I am free.
I am underdog.