I may not be Taylor Swift.
I do not sell out stadiums
or bend the world with a song.
Her impact is luminous,
and I honor it.

Me?
I am an exhausted pigeon.
A mom, a DBA,
a keeper of snacks and safe spaces,
a survivor of laundry feuds and penguin outages (don’t ask).

I show up each day,
ragged wings beating against the wind,
not for glory,
but for the one person who needs me.

I feed my kids,
I listen to their tears,
I fold another basket of grief into socks.
I hold the line in meetings
where servers revolt
and Linux mutters in tongues.

And sometimes,
in between tacos and beer,
I write.
I scribble poems in the mud,
offer laughter in the absurd,
leave breadcrumbs of truth for strangers online.

I may not be Taylor Swift.
I am an exhausted pigeon.
But still,
I am here.
And sometimes,
one person at a time
is more than enough.