The Fall

Yasmin Meghdadi, 2T8 WB

Pride

is a fickle

thing,

swaying easily

in the slight

Spring breeze,

tearing through

the nails

hooking

it into my heart,

ripping away

the exquisitely crafted

illusion

of strength and perseverance.

All of my life

I’ve brushed off

one worry

after another

simply because I was

under the impression

nothing could break me

or bring me down

onto my knees,

A true testament to

my personal strength.

I never expected

the crash to

hurt so much.

The uneven ground

bloodying

my shins

and leaving

me scarred

as I saw you

crumble,

wailing

Blood-curdling screams.

I didn’t know

people were

capable of

producing

such gut-wrenching

sounds,

sespicable melodies

that will

continue to haunt

me and my

faux strength

until the moment

I lay in

the cold, hard ground.

When you fell,

I fell with you,

proving just how

big of a fool

I was to think

that I was standing upright,

my back impeccably straight

utterly unbent,

on my own merit alone.

You fell,

and I don’t know how to

get you back up.

You fell,

and you took me

with you.