I tell the tale of beginnings so hard they sting like concrete wall on broken right-hand knuckles.
I tell the tale of scraped knees, of palms full of gravel from sidewalk paved with disappointment.
I tell the tale of bitten fingernails, and bitten cheeks, and bitten lips, and bitten pencils, cracked joints, shuffled feet, downcast eyes.
I tell the tale of taking it, from whoever gives it.  Taking it and letting it seep in through pores you thought you’d covered up with band-aids.
I tell the tale of training each corner of your mouth to defy gravity, even though physics is just so hard to beat.
Though I tell these tales of grey and black and brown, I also tell bursts of red, of yellow paint sporadically spattered over bright azure sky.
I tell tales of pushing, pushing into that sidewalk with every millimeter of your body, straining to beat the gravity that keeps pulling your smile down.
Muscle takes work to build, and each day as your nose inches away from the ground, you will build memory, build houses.
Brick houses that even the Big Bad Wolf can’t blow in, despite his astounding lung capacity and sheer force of will.
And every time he tries to muster up a breath, you can tickle him ‘til he laughs all that air out.
Because you can play ping pong with physics
And tie helium-filled balloons to your lips so they rise to the heavens,
And physics has a ****** backhand serve, so you can beat him with both eyes closed.