“I have sensitive skin!” I yawp from the top of the building.

A man in a coat only stopped walking for a second

To look up at the kid,

Yelling about his dermatitis from the heavens,

Before continuing on, more or less unbothered.

My canvas skate shoes are rugged,

But pressed sternly against the concrete ledge.

My cargo shorts are too wide at the openings,

Giving way and flapping to the wind

For a lack of better words, I stand shirtless.

“I’m only 5 foot 8!” I yell,

This time only catching the attention

Of some very confused pigeons,

Who are perched on a telephone wire.

My eyes are hot,

And feel as if they are steaming

As the wind whips harshly against them.

The sky, as trite as it is to write about…

Forget being cliche!

Forget yourself for a moment.

Judge me based on the words I use,

And by the passion in which I speak them.

Judge me based on my actions,

And rejoice in the full symphony that was orchestrated for the world.

See the good in my words, and know it.

See the good in the world, and taste it, and love it.

Study the brilliance and ignorance alike.

Learn from both of them!

Heed to the bastions, and the ramparts

And fall short of the brutes.

The pen is all too commonly, not mightier than the sword.

We shouldn’t compare the pen to the sword.

The pen created the sword in fact.

We should develop our senses,

And be reinvigorated when your latest poem

Encapsulates your heart,

And inspires that of the masses.

One step forward, now both feet planted on the concrete ledge.

Of course, my nails are long,

And my hair is unkempt.

My lips chapped, and my eyes still steaming,

baggy and tired.

Nevertheless, a smile scars my face.

Unmoving and never relenting.

I looked to the clouds, and imagine,

Celestial beings acknowledging me.

My soul,

Will stand cool and composed,

Before a million universes...

The scholars resound with cries of plagiarism.

The learn’d astronomer scolfs at such blatant imitation.

And yet I am unafraid.

And yet my soul relaxes, and sinks into it’s cosmic sofa.

Wouldn’t this only feel better,

A rose colored filter and a picture perfect memory.

Eidetic in its own right,

Not only will I not forget,

I could speak to it like a recent event.

The suburban scape below me,

Existing in it’s own world.

And respectively 3 stories below me.

The sidewalk looks like soft sand banks,

And the asphalt of the road flows loosely between.

Should my mind explode,

Confetti would litter the streets.

And my mind would be reminiscent

Of the aftermath of a parade.

Should I expire in this moment,

Extinguish my train of thought,

Do not bury my words with me.

Please study the nuances

I never understood

Or don’t!

For you owe me nothing, and I owe you nothing.

Do good for the sake of it.

Do what makes your soul tingle.

While the young explode.

With youthful exuberation,

And the older generations

Tell stories and educate the hungry minds.

And let that love for your passion relieve the pain of others.

Expel your transgressions into a pot,

And stir until it’s a sight to behold.

Beheld before me is a cityscape.

The outer limits of the massive concrete labyrinth

Composed of back alleys and busy traffic stops.

Every particle of this jungle able to tell their story

From a different and new perspective.

I shout again,

“I am no longer insecure!”

Nobody seems to care.

Nobody cares that I’m not insecure.

I don’t even care that nobody cares

That I’m not insecure.

I’m letting go.

Approaching the turmoil with a simple shrug,

And a “meh”.

I slowly step back off the ledge.

Bracing my knees softly but surely.

Were it to be a movie, the sun would bulldoze through the clouds,

And shine as I walk away.

But this is life. The clouds stay,

Staggering sunlight onto the surrounding buildings,

And diffracting slightly through the windshields of parked cars.

“This is life.” I say softly to myself.

I repeat it again, slowly getting louder, but never reaching a yell.

A normal toned sentence,

Monotonous and vague.

It keeps me upbeat in an unfair world.

“If it weren’t unfair,” I say, still talking to myself,

“Things would be so dull.”

I swing open the door, that accesses the roof.

To walk into the dark stairwell, and leave the perch.

Another step towards the end?

Maybe.

Or another step towards the next beginning.