i wonder what it is to fly, unadulterated
by enidjerztlooper
a PowerPoint presentation
woke me up, as i input the wrong
numbers that produced a chain reaction
of wrong combination; unacceptable
unhappy
across the room, your voice echoed
as you mentioned five-hundred discrepancies
I have yet to fill
five-hundred mistakes
I have yet to correct
unhappy
five-hundred more, I say,
cause you were wrong
five-hundred more mistakes
with four-hundred ninety-nine of them
is me existing,
and one, is for the wrong calculations
splattered across my dusty screen
unhappy
I am rich; but not in the way people perceived
I am rich, but not in the way that people would envy
As I sat here, feigning attention
I saw him; no harness, with hands displayed
as though he was gifted with the ability to fly
but his wings we’re vestigial
cause humans are made to walk; not fly
unhappy
I stared at him, ignoring the mechanical movement
of my hands, ignoring whether I’m corrected by my
muscle memory
I watched him.
Happy.
Dirt poor, with all adorning him was the flicker of light
dimly reflecting throughout, to avoid collision
I want what he had.
happy.
The freedom to fly,
even though flying means death.
happy
The freedom to choose,
to embrace the air,
breathing my last.
happy.
I could just imagine.
for my hands corrected
the mistake that makes me envy
the man with a reflector vest
unhappy.
All i knew is that
the more i press the keys onto the screen
producing what i never wanted,
I’ll always be
unhappy
unlike the man, on the top of the building
at peace, even though,
knowing that one single misstep
can cause him
to cease breathing
at nine point 8 meters
per second.
that to me
is freedom
and I'm
happy.