I'll try not to deny myself the ability to be happy.
The sky is blue enough for everyone.
I'll be the giraffe that holds his head aloft, not scoffing at those beneath him, but seeing new heights.
I'll be that giraffe that gets a scarf for Christmas, for the fourth year in a row.
My head held high with pride.
Not for the fact I have a long neck, but more room to display how many times someone said they loved me.
I'll have more pride than all the lions.
Who drag us down to their level, raze us.
Praise teeth and claw and prize the rubies from our cages.
They can swallow me whole for all I care.
Spit out the bones.
Just leave me my scarves.
Like the rings of a tree, tall but cut down.
Count the number of years I was alive.
The pre-scarf years don't count.
