when i was five,
i would scrape my knees,
and ***** my face,
whenever i fell.

but i was never afraid to stand up,
dust of my clothes,
and begin running again.

when i was nine,
i would trip and stumble,
ruin the pale skin of my hands,
but i didn't care.

i wanted to keep running,
to feel free...
so i did.

but now, whenever i fall,
i ***** my hands with my own blood,
and my legs start shaking uncontrollably,
so i curse the ground for being so uneven.

all i can seem to do now
is just glance at my injuries,
wallow in my own self pity,
and wait.

but what exactly am i waiting for?