The Height of the Fall
by Amanda Hawk
There is a myth that if you are falling in a dream
and hit the ground, you die.
As a teenager, I launch myself over and over
off every structure my mind could create.
A girl built on self-destruct
full of shrapnel shouts and cries, counting down my pain.
Tick, worthless, tick, not acceptable, tick, just a failure.
A love letter to suicide, a final prayer, as I fall.
In the end, I never quite hit
I hover inches from the ground inhaling the smell of fresh dirt and regret
or my dream diverts me to water
and splash land while the murk and algae swirl in my eyes.
One of the most common dreams is falling.
It represents insecurities, instabilities, and anxieties.
As a young woman, I linger in peaks of abstract mountains
of incomplete sentences and towering expectations.
A woman built of chaos and nerves, my body is an explosion
of trembling hands, reaching out to find balance in air.
Teeter, when, teeter, why, teeter, where do I belong.
A handwritten whisper, my scribbles transform into clouds
and slow my fall, so my body can stretch into the horizon
and I find myself in the landscape, the forest of my smile
the wilderness of my tongue, the rivers of my arms
the roadways of my bravery and press pins in the road maps of my memories.
As I fall, the portrait of me introduces itself to me
and I rest in her gaze.
Every night, I leap from the moon and dive down, down, down
into myself, and the thing with falling is you do land.
It is said if you hit the ground in your dreams and don’t wake up,
it indicates your ability to confront your fears has grown stronger.
and hit the ground, you die.
As a teenager, I launch myself over and over
off every structure my mind could create.
A girl built on self-destruct
full of shrapnel shouts and cries, counting down my pain.
Tick, worthless, tick, not acceptable, tick, just a failure.
A love letter to suicide, a final prayer, as I fall.
In the end, I never quite hit
I hover inches from the ground inhaling the smell of fresh dirt and regret
or my dream diverts me to water
and splash land while the murk and algae swirl in my eyes.
One of the most common dreams is falling.
It represents insecurities, instabilities, and anxieties.
As a young woman, I linger in peaks of abstract mountains
of incomplete sentences and towering expectations.
A woman built of chaos and nerves, my body is an explosion
of trembling hands, reaching out to find balance in air.
Teeter, when, teeter, why, teeter, where do I belong.
A handwritten whisper, my scribbles transform into clouds
and slow my fall, so my body can stretch into the horizon
and I find myself in the landscape, the forest of my smile
the wilderness of my tongue, the rivers of my arms
the roadways of my bravery and press pins in the road maps of my memories.
As I fall, the portrait of me introduces itself to me
and I rest in her gaze.
Every night, I leap from the moon and dive down, down, down
into myself, and the thing with falling is you do land.
It is said if you hit the ground in your dreams and don’t wake up,
it indicates your ability to confront your fears has grown stronger.
Amanda Hawk lives in Seattle, Washington. She has had works published in Small Pond of Literature magazine, Cranial Tempest, and Roar Shock. Her poetry has been featured on Rain City Poetry Slam's Instagram and an honorable mention on marylambertsings.com.