Parachutes are the screams of your mother vocalizing
“Clean yo damn room” as you stare at your grey dust-layered desk.
A parachute is a slimy dollop of tobacco that Coach D-Bag spit on your
Face for being “ too damn slow”.
A parachute is your brain signaling you to stop
Punching your wall out of anger because you’re annoyed at life.
Parachutes are the horrifying but joyous cries of your mother when she
Found out you were going to be born.
Parachutes are your mother’s tiresome hands guiding you through childhood
To keep you away from drugs and alcohol.
Parachutes are the Riddell helmets that save you from Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy.
Parachutes are your first love’s arms wrapped around you in Cinemark.
Parachutes are oxygen tanks for firefighters after inhaling soot and debris.
Parachutes are the steady hands of Neurosurgeons performing Craniotomies.
A Parachute is Jesus Christ suffering on the Cross for your sins.
Parachutes are heroes that save us from the atmosphere.
Parachutes slow us down so we don’t crash land.
In times of great depression when you’re freefalling around Earth
Questioning your purpose, just remember
Parachutes want you to live.
