I put on the gloves,
grabbed onto the wire,
and put my head down.
I pulled myself up the mountainside,
ignoring the deep desire to vomit
to cry in exhaustion,
to give up.
Falling seemed so easy, so simple, so free
even if just to the ground below
to sit quietly without effort or struggle.
I suppose it all seems easy
falling in and out of love,
floating in and out of consciousness,
moments whirring past
without aim or strain.
But these gloves have knit themselves into my hands.
And they grip onto the wire,
curved in habit and pain.
There is no falling option,
This mountain promises
something more to come.
I climb in despair
This post is written as a contribution to The Creative Collective on the topic of "Falling." Check out my fellow synchrobloggers' work here.