I have fallen
from the highest heights.
Clouds are a rush.
They have no fear.
Only sighs as
they watch me tumble.
A raindrop of a person
trusting the ground
to catch and cradle.
The first branch:
a skinned forehead.
Left alone at the edge
with only words.
"Go play, I'm busy."
"Next week I promise."
The next branch:
Pierced.
I'll never get it back.
Ruined.
Ravaged.
Worthless.
Beaten until I find
my voice.
A backbone
I don't want to use.
I don't get to reach the ground.
I shatter,
coming together
with new cracks
and rising as mist.
I didn't want to know
how it felt to be a cloud.
4/4/2018
