To scale

I read somewhere that a grain of sand is halfway between a single atom and the moon. I'm trying to figure out where I fit on that scale. Does a love of heavy summer thunderstorms and light winter snow dustings make me bigger or smaller? Some days I feel like a blade of grass in a hurricane. The wind attacks my roots, but if it blows me the right way, I whistle. I chase the glitters and I stand among the ruins throwing ashes into the sun. I’ve got a throatful of superstition and a backbone that’s only half what I pretend. My scars are heavy and scattered and were pinned on by the ones who honored me the hard way. I’m a pageant of iridescent longing, nostalgia on parade. I stare out at the dusty rooftops dreaming of Ginsberg’s backyard green tree cemetery dawns. My heart comes with big flat-press buttons like a calculator. I love the darkness that hides the softest parts of me and my biggest fear is that someone will rip down my curtains and everyone outside will see me dancing. I bought my experience and I smoked that shit to the filter.

How big am I now?