Jumpers

I believe in the world as much as I can,

but I’m tired, I’m tired in my very bones

of the deafening silence all around us,

like the way when someone’s poised

to jump off a building, cops and

crowds and megaphones gather

in a frenzy of people 

trying to save them -

but when a young boy’s 

selling dope for a cartel,

when veterans are sprawled 

begging on sidewalks,

when girls barely older than 18

sell themselves in the streets,

when gay kids are convinced

this world wasn’t meant for them,

there are no megaphones,

there are no crowds,

and when the cops come

their desperation is a called a crime,

or a tragedy, or a suicide.

There are so many different ways

we kill ourselves, and I wish

this world was more like the street

below a jumper on a rooftop,

booming with voices loud with love

and the promise that the world

wishes we would step back from the ledge.