sugar coating with cake the mistake. life is hard ground.

It's upon my face, it's in my fingertips, it's on my tongue, it's inescapable and it's becoming too obvious to disguise, to obvious to heel to touch and too obvious to not say.  

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To look down, I couldnt. I was five. I was high, higher than I could handle. It glistened in the heat and sunshine, lengthy and petrifying. Stable as it should be, a firemans pole. A simple grab with little hands clinging would descend me to the ground in a swift and playful manner.  Solid, simple and safe. 
I fell.
I fell at five years old.
The blue sky was high, high above me, seemingly getting further away from me as I fell backwards. 
I was heading down and I knew, at five, there was nothing I could do.  Nothing but the hard and painful ground was awaiting at the bottom.  With a thud I lay there. Mere seconds but hours and clouds drifted past as I blinked the tears from my eyes. Defeated and motionless.  Denied and mad.  Mad at myself.  Other five year olds could go down a firemans pole attached to a childrens jungle gym but not I. No, I would think I could do it and only to realise then at five years old and now twenty-one years later that I can't. 
Keep falling
Just lie still at the bottom, perhaps no one saw, perhaps no one would make a fuss. Five years old and wanting the ground after hitting me to rather swallow me. Or bolt me back to the top, let me try again. Erase this defeat and give me colourful crayons to redraw.  Redraw the curiosity, the bravery and the ebullient picture of myself and my fallen family.
With a bump on my head and to my ego I sat and ate cake while watching the other children climb and slide down with ease. 
At least it was away from my hometown. At least I would never have to sit and eat cake and watch that aweless firemans pole again. 

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