Bathmophobia

Falling up stairs
As easy as falling down
And there I sit, bruises blooming
Except its spring, and blooms are lovely
Not like these dark marks of clumsiness
And I want to take an elevator, I want winged shoes
I want never ever again to fall up stairs, while my heart sinks
And people point and laugh, and I pick up books. Or people sympathize.
So I runrunrun to class, and dodge and fumble and put one foot in the place of another.
Falling up stairs. Falling down. Bruises unlike the yellow of daffodils. Today anyhow.