Balloon Thoughts

hope, in a nutshell

like a rag doll, 
i dragged a tire 
that belonged to my grandfather's 
old-rusted-truck
to the edge of the earth
and tied it to a branch, 

i put myself at the center 
and clung to the top. 
then, with hope crawling 
on me like ants to death; i pushed off the gravel and swung into the sky. 

i sacrificed shards of the earth, closed my eyes, and allowed my breath to argue with the wind. 

my scales began to peel one by one and the sun burned into me. 

in seconds, my limbs came undone and i slipped out and allowed my fingers to stop anxiety. then, like breath with a dandelion, i floated away from my corolla. 

fish aren't meant to fly. 
they said, but i still jumped.