What is this?
Who am I?
I am this thing—
I can jump high.
I try, I try,
but something holds me back.
I go, I go,
hit my head—
I know.
They don’t see it.
They clap for those who fly,
but I’ve been here,
jumping till I die.
Again.
And again.
And again—
still hitting the top,
still wondering if the air above
was ever meant
for me at all.
Down on the level,
I know I could do better—
but why even try?
At this point,
I question why I’m alive.
Confused and angered,
the world opens for all.
Why wasn’t I the one?
Why couldn’t I stand tall?
Done, and done again.
I’m tired of this pain.
I leap, and leap,
until my heart seeps;
and when I break through,
in my hands—
that joy—
I grip.
Sinister †Publications 
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