I am a parachute, gliding yet falling through life.
I open up to the ocean skies and cotton clouds when I want to
And close to death when I feel like it.
Sometimes I stay closed too long and fall down hard in Kitty Hawk,
My home where everyone I know can witness it.
Sometimes I land perfectly but slip quietly back into my mask
Where nobody can know who I truly am.
In my mask, I am fire, rising back into the air
Where my parachute once dropped me.
And then it starts all over again.
When floating in the air, sometimes I am golden.
I make good choices that lead me to the right landing pad.
Sometimes I am blood-orange and the wind blows me off course.
Most of the time, I need a guardian with wings to help me stay afloat.
Wings that are strong enough to hold both me and my burdens.
I am a parachute with a hole in it, falling through life.
The more I fall,
The larger the hole becomes.
It tears as easy as piece of paper until all that is left of me
Are bits and pieces drifting in the wind.
I sometimes I find myself falling without any parachute at all
And once I reach the ground, I crumple as if I were the paper that is left of me.
I often wonder how if others can land smoothly, why can’t I?
I often wonder what others are hiding underneath their mask.
I often wonder what kind of paratrooper they are.
I am a colorful paratrooper;
A rainbow paratrooper.
I am copper, death, smiles, lemons, and pomegranates.
I am a stew of various emotions.
My parachute is a mood ring,
Displaying my inner self.
My inner self is concealed by my mask,
And while my mask is on, my actions are limited.
I must stay inside the box.
I must stay in my jail cell.
I must stay in the torch of The Statue of Liberty,
Longing to escape.
When I am gliding through life
In my unmasked and colorful parachute,
Escape is mandatory
And I am more than welcome to
Emerge from my box,
Break out of my jail cell,
And jump off the statue of liberty, accompanied by my parachute.
I am scarred by the past.
I am healed by the future.
I am troubled by my mask.
I am comforted by my broken parachute.
I am constantly breaking.
I am constantly being healed by the strength of wings.
I am constantly tearing no matter how strong the wings are;
The medicine is only temporary.
I am a parachute, gliding yet falling through life.