take the stairs

loosening the hold upon the handrail with the gamble that the escalator would lift you without stalling 

as though the very clouds crowding below your feet are more than just weather and will ferry you to h(e)aven.

but when the skies splits experimentally and summering, who will race to lay cushions beneath a fetal silhouette?

rolling the hopeful six that the ground will crane its neck, courteous and kind, to soil your tendonless ankles mid-fall

but i bet no one tells you this...

even the softest wings will wear out if there’s no stubborn little heart beating brave enough to bear their breaking.

even a bird has to bloody its beak to break free of the egg.

xo, ry