I dared to tip toe on the edge of a building

With bare feet and hands and  my arms held out wide

I am an airplane

I am meant to fly

I stuck one foot out into the cold wet night and I felt raindrops tickle my toes

I am a gust of wind

I am ready to blow

They say that the edge of insanity is where we feel electrically alive

They clearly have never gone insane

Because, to feel electrically alive means that you are always most certainly in the midst of a shock

And tell me, how many have you know to survive that kind of thing?

When lightning strikes it leaves marks that look like roots

A beautiful dance of electricity in contact with skin

They are worn proudly, they are called beautiful

The remnants of all that pain and sharpness

I wonder then if I am beautiful

Hovering here and waiting

I am an airplane

I am ready to blow

A Short Conversation is a collection of stories, thoughts, and general musing. I like to write like I'm slamming a door; loudly, and with purpose.

3 Comments on “Blow

Leave a Reply

%d bloggers like this: