It was in late Spring, time for me to go to school.  As I carefully walked down the age-weathered stairs, it was a balancing act between the rickety steps and my black, leather pumps. The stairs won, and down I went, hitting my head on the wrought-iron Banister

"What a way to start the day," I thought to myself as I rubbed my head.  I picked myself up and continued on the 3.5-mile walk to
school.  My head was still pounding when I arrived.

I saw my best friend Bonnie, as she came around the corner of the school.  We had known each other for ten years, and there wasn't anything we didn't know about each other.  "Hey Bonnie," I yelled.  She turned around and gave me a huge smile.  The rays of the Sun made her blonde hair glow.  With a stature of 5'9, she was a real beauty.

The day was uneventful, just a normal day.  Bonnie was in three of my classes; Math, Science, and History.  She made the day go incredibly fast.  We cheated off one another, here and there, praying we wouldn't get caught.  No wonder we were straight-A students.  We were both highly intelligent.

After school, she came to my three-bedroom-home to study.  I liked my ranch home and was proud for everyone to see it.  We sit on my bed, skimming through the pages of our History book, trying to remember what we read, for tomorrow's test.  
Soon it was time for dinner, so Bonnie went home.  We talked later on our Verizon phones.

After taking a shower, I climbed into a nightgown and brushed my teeth.  They were pearly white, always being complimented on.  I said my prayers, then turned off my blue and white lamp.  I went to sleep, hoping I would pass the test tomorrow.

Do you ever feel
Like
   you
      might
         be
            falling?
Do you ever think
                            That
                         you
                     won't
                   be
             able
          to
      get
  back
up?
Fight that feeling
A
n
d
And take the
                    st
                    ai
                  ­  rs
                      to the top floor.

I see the floor these stairs lead to, but I can’t tell what’s exactly going on there. I can hear all sorts of voices and noises and I can also hear the silence. Engrossed in deep thoughts, I suddenly feel a push from someone telling me to climb the hell up. Stuck between my curiosity and the frenzy, I start ascending a few steps and then I freeze. I freeze because I saw a glimpse of what’s going on up there. It looked like a charade and everyone looked like they are in a masquerade. It looked chaotic from where I was standing but I was in the queue, I had to keep moving. Gathering up my courage and given no **** choice, I climbed the stairs. For me, this floor gave ‘mess’ a new dimension and ‘disorder’ a new definition.

Like everyone else, I was also handed over a suitcase that was as big as me, but not as heavy as others. I looked at the annoying, masked person who was registering me as the “new habitant” of the crazy land to get any indication of what am I supposed to do, and he ****** his shoulders as if he did not give a shred of care. It seemed I was on my own to discover this crowded mess of a place where everyone keeps shoving into everyone. It was like an unorganized market, only this time there were no vendors or shops.

My adjusting in this new habitat was not smooth or easy, I was bruised, insulted and called names. The earlier days were not that bad, but after a while things started getting suffocating and I found myself escaping to the already filled balcony to catch my breath more than often. The people who climbed the stairs with me seemed to have gelled in barring a few. A couple of months passed and all I wanted to do was climbed down those steps. But guess what, unlike all conventional staircases, these don’t go down.
I did everything I could to feel at home and I also tried making some friends but nothing seemed to work. It actually made me suffocate even more because all I could see were masks on people’s faces and all I could hear was deception in their voices. In the world where ‘survival of the fittest’ is the mantra, I wonder how long will it be until I choke on my own thoughts and die? How long before this environment takes its toll and push me on the edge? Either I survive or I won’t in this new land called Adulthood.

Tear, tear, tear.
Spend classes tearing paper into tiny bits.
Why do I do it?
(Tearing until my fingers hurt.)

Count, count, count.
Almost run into people every few minutes.
Why do I do it?
(Count my bones whenever I can.)
(Count the steps on the stairs when I ran.)
(Count the steps I take and how many breaths I draw.)

I am aware that everyone sees me,
counting and tearing and restarting,
and I don't want to stop even though it's not with a degree of panic.

Check, check, check.
Check so many things again and again,
but not the things that are really important.
(Check that everything's not changing or if it is.)

Falling
          F
          o
          r You
                  W
                   as Like
                              F
                              al­ling
                                      D
                        ­               own M
                                                  a
           ­                                        rble St
                                                            a
­                                                            irs And
                                                             ­         C
                                                      ­                 racking
                                                         ­                          M
                                                               ­                      y Head
                                                            ­                                     Open

Everything out in the open, but no one wants to clear up the mess left behind or pick up the pieces.

I put on my black lace dress
because I am going out tonight
to enjoy the nightlife.

Lingering on the stairs
I ponder the night's
future possibilities.

My stomach starts churning
never experienced this feeling,
whether it be anticipation or reluctance.

The stairs seem so steep
as I climb the tallest
industrial mountain.

Bare feet are clammy
against the chilled tiles
of the terrain.

The breeze catches in
my lungs and I choke
on the sudden inhalation.

Stars are so much more
brighter from this height,
many different colors.

On the edge,
I'm ready to spread
my wings and soar.

My feet leave the sturdy surface
for the sanctity
of the skies.

Spreading my wings
needing the air
to cradle me.

Realization hits me
like the concrete,
these plucked wings can't help me.

These Stairs. Stairs. Stairs. Stairs.
They keep getting longer,
and I keep dragging myself up them,

They form a spiral, but it's an inefficient shape.
It's constantly growing and shrinking.There is no end to the illusion. Illusions will never be as they seem.

I'll be pulling a heavier weight. I'm pulling a heavier weight I'm pulling myself. I'm pulling myself. I'm dragging my feet.
I'm exaggerating my movements. I'm exaggerating my words.

It's growing. Growing. Growing.
Like an infesting species to a house.
I'm crawling. I'm crawling. This is too much. This is too much. This is too long. This is too long. Too much. Too long. Too much. Too long.

These stacks of neverending words grow, and I tell myself to stop saying the biggest words that come to mind.
I tell myself to forget my pride. If I ever want to reach the top, I must.

They are so hard to decipher, but I can't stop climbing them, trying to conquer the enquizative knowledge of my insanity.
I keep stepping. Stepping. Stepping. Stepping.
I slowly drag my weight. Drag. Drag. Drag.

I slowly find myself climbing the words. Climb. Climb. Climb. Verb after verb. Trying to signal rhyme after rhyme. But, to my horror, when I reach the top.

There is nothing but a shadowed surface, filled with mistakes and tragedies. There is nothing but a reflection. Nothing but a small, skinny girl. And, to my horror, I realize,

IT IS ME.