tallonrk1
10-15-2015, 01:40 AM
When you roll your ankle over a ridge in the street
and you are falling, you don’t have time
to think about the pain in your ankle,
or to think about putting your hands out in front of you,
or to think about landing so that your laptop doesn’t crash into the crosswalk—
You have time to think
****, I’m falling
and that’s about it,
and when you’re thinking
****, I’m falling
you are not thinking about the stares
people give you as you fall,
and that is liberating.
When you are thinking
****, I’m falling
you are not thinking about
maintaining the softness of your hands
that you suspect somebody,
someday,
will appreciate,
and that is liberating.
When you are thinking
****, I’m falling
you are already on the ground.
Your hands, by some miracle,
have stopped the street’s motion towards you
in the same way a traffic director’s hand
stops the motion of cars.
And you look down, and you left knee
is planted firmly into the pavement,
and you look like you are about to start a 100-meter dash,
but you are in the middle of a crosswalk
and there are dozens of people around you,
and now you are thinking about their stares, and the girl
who asks if you are okay
and you haven’t had the time to consider whether you are okay
so you say “yeah, I’m fine,”
and you are certain that your laptop is still hanging from your shoulder,
so there must be some truth to that,
and you are surprised to find out that your ankle isn’t sprained,
because you have rolled your ankle three times in your life
and your ankle has been sprained three times in your life,
and your hands are still soft,
and your knee
has a small red circle.
Blood
still beneath
the surface of skin. But closer now.
And you are closer now
to the pavement than you’ve ever been,
so you stand up,
finish crossing the street, and nobody
asks
why you decided to fall.
And that is liberating.
When you are falling in love, you don’t have time
to think about the pain of not being loved back,
or to think about never speaking a word to him again,
or to think about never letting your hands touch his,
you have time to think
****, I’m falling
and that’s about it,
and when you’re thinking
****, I’m falling
you are not thinking about
how you could be fired from your job
for being gay.
And that is liberating.
When you are thinking
****, I’m falling
you are not thinking about
the softness of his hands—
how he could, so easily,
drag a finger down
the outline of your jaw,
touch your lips,
guide your chin
closer to his…
Instead, you are thinking
****, I’m falling
and you are already in his arms.
His hands, by some miracle,
have wrapped themselves
around your body,
and your hands, by some miracle,
have wrapped themselves
around his body,
and you are holding each other
together,
and now you are thinking
about the softness of his hands
as he asks if you are okay,
as if, were you to let go,
your blood would break the surface of skin,
and you are surprised to find out that your heart isn’t broken,
because you’ve fallen in love three times in your life,
and your heart has been broken three times in your life,
and you are closer now
to a boy than you’ve ever been,
so you let go of him,
walk back to your room, and nobody
asks
why you decided to fall.
And that is everything.
and you are falling, you don’t have time
to think about the pain in your ankle,
or to think about putting your hands out in front of you,
or to think about landing so that your laptop doesn’t crash into the crosswalk—
You have time to think
****, I’m falling
and that’s about it,
and when you’re thinking
****, I’m falling
you are not thinking about the stares
people give you as you fall,
and that is liberating.
When you are thinking
****, I’m falling
you are not thinking about
maintaining the softness of your hands
that you suspect somebody,
someday,
will appreciate,
and that is liberating.
When you are thinking
****, I’m falling
you are already on the ground.
Your hands, by some miracle,
have stopped the street’s motion towards you
in the same way a traffic director’s hand
stops the motion of cars.
And you look down, and you left knee
is planted firmly into the pavement,
and you look like you are about to start a 100-meter dash,
but you are in the middle of a crosswalk
and there are dozens of people around you,
and now you are thinking about their stares, and the girl
who asks if you are okay
and you haven’t had the time to consider whether you are okay
so you say “yeah, I’m fine,”
and you are certain that your laptop is still hanging from your shoulder,
so there must be some truth to that,
and you are surprised to find out that your ankle isn’t sprained,
because you have rolled your ankle three times in your life
and your ankle has been sprained three times in your life,
and your hands are still soft,
and your knee
has a small red circle.
Blood
still beneath
the surface of skin. But closer now.
And you are closer now
to the pavement than you’ve ever been,
so you stand up,
finish crossing the street, and nobody
asks
why you decided to fall.
And that is liberating.
When you are falling in love, you don’t have time
to think about the pain of not being loved back,
or to think about never speaking a word to him again,
or to think about never letting your hands touch his,
you have time to think
****, I’m falling
and that’s about it,
and when you’re thinking
****, I’m falling
you are not thinking about
how you could be fired from your job
for being gay.
And that is liberating.
When you are thinking
****, I’m falling
you are not thinking about
the softness of his hands—
how he could, so easily,
drag a finger down
the outline of your jaw,
touch your lips,
guide your chin
closer to his…
Instead, you are thinking
****, I’m falling
and you are already in his arms.
His hands, by some miracle,
have wrapped themselves
around your body,
and your hands, by some miracle,
have wrapped themselves
around his body,
and you are holding each other
together,
and now you are thinking
about the softness of his hands
as he asks if you are okay,
as if, were you to let go,
your blood would break the surface of skin,
and you are surprised to find out that your heart isn’t broken,
because you’ve fallen in love three times in your life,
and your heart has been broken three times in your life,
and you are closer now
to a boy than you’ve ever been,
so you let go of him,
walk back to your room, and nobody
asks
why you decided to fall.
And that is everything.