Whenever it rains,
I look for worms on the ground.
When I see one,
I like to pick it up and throw it back into the grass.
The worms don't know they will shrivel up when the sun comes out, but I do.
The worms don't know they need help, but I do.
Maybe my method is violent for them,
being flung through the air.

But it makes me think-
about the people in my life.
When have I been a worm?
Needing to change,
but unwilling or unable to do so.
Who knew I would shrivel on the pavement?
Who has gone out of their way to give me help?
Even if the help seemed violent or scary.

I want to tell them I love them-
the people and the worms.
They've given me the boost,
back to the mud from the pavement.
I think there's always been someone for me-
when I was a worm.
So I always want to be there
to throw worms back into the dirt.