We'll start with the trees,
and work our way down,
to the sound of knees
slamming into the ground.

I was ten, and a half
and certainly full of myself,
The floor felt like a bath
but it was not good for my health.

my legs still ache sometimes,
and I never ever asked for it,
but I taunted the God of gravity,
and in the state of disarray I was,

I stood up.

The soft grass where I had landed had a bit of blood, in between
the blades I could see the dirt a darker brown than the heavy sky.

There is no pattern to this poem,
I just remember being so careless I didn't
care what would happen if I hit the ground,
I could only see to the stars over my head,
not to the tall grass and years of self loathing ahead.