Can’t back out now.
Taunted endlessly—
end of the world pressure;
At least it feels that way
when you’re twelve.
My heart beats like a war drum
as I stare into the murky water,
waves breaking hard against the shore.
Thirty feet up.
Maybe forty.
Maybe more.
“Don’t be a chicken!”
they yell from below
Deep breaths.
I step back.
Then forward again.
The ground vanishes
shitshitshitshitshitshitshit
I crash like a meteor
that forgot how to land,
as if gravity made a personal decision.
Pain—
sharp,
immediate,
everywhere at once,
like a thousand hot needles
deciding where I land
I wish I had learned how to dive
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