As a child,
I used to
fall down
a lot,
walking from
classroom
through
classroom,
getting
out the car,  
at my home,
at the airport,
at my dad's
but
everything
seemed
to fall apart
there
so I didn't
give it
A second
thought,

it was
like
my coordination
was obsessed
with gravity,
my skin happy
to be feeling
someone's else's
embrace,
even if it opened
little waterfalls
that smelled
like pennies,
people started
calling me
an attention
seeker,
I was, I am.

i still didn't
understand
why my body
was clearly
tormenting me,
I felt like
I was caged,
and I didn't
have any
control over
what hurts me,
only the words
that come after.

should I try
to make them
laugh?

should I
cry at this
wound that's
clearly painful?

should I
make a
run for it?

no,
that'll give
gravity
another chance
to caress my
skin and drink
from the fountain
Of youth,

I'm not
proud of it,
of falling,
of being riddled
with an endless
love between
my knees
and the swift
but stinging
pain alcohol
has brought
into the mix.

Falling is such
a profound
word that
I didn't know
I was falling
in love
with you
until your
arms cushioned
my fall

and from
then on
I knew
falling
wasn't
a curse.