window ledge

...in the early hours of the morning 

she sits at her window ledge 

and looks out onto the street

once in a while a a cool breeze 

hits her face

and in the orange streetlight glow

she spells out words from below

from 'disabled' she makes words

like able and bed and sad and led

 and sometimes

she lets her legs dangle 

the wind blows through her toes

and she knows, then 

deep down everything will be okay

but that's not to say 

she doesn't think about it 

in truth, she'd like to slide down the roof

for the thrill, to escape the still

life she's leading and
the crazy -ish she be dealing 

with in her head.