The cherry tree

Ever since I was a child it has always been like this    
I used to sit on my cherry tree and write poems of all sorts  
Just the sky, paper, and I    
A pencil or a pen wiggling between my fingers as I write my thoughts away
    
Yes, just a pencil or a pen, my deepest most private thoughts and myself    
Me and my clumsily written poems about rain and its pattering    
About people and their chattering    
And about me and how I always wanted to jump    
 
It used to be a wish of mine to jump from anywhere anytime but only for fun    
No lethal heights in sight    
Just me and my fun as I jump    
Over the rope, from my tree or from my staircase to pretend I’m more athletic than I seem  
 
But now things have changed and my wish to jump has turned into a craving    
A deadly kind    
 
Now when I jump I want the end result to look like paint splattered across the wall    
I want to jump and burst just like raindrops do when they fall from weeping clouds onto this stupid fucking ground    
I want to be like a balloon that pops when a needle tickles it’s rubbery and smooth skin    
I want to be better than I have been    
I want to be like a piñata when it bursts and hundreds of small confetti pieces emerge    
I want to...  
   
...I want to jump!    
Fuck!