Learning to ride a bike is a bloody business.
When you fall—not if—the skin on your knees will break.
You will taste the salt of tears on your lips,
From the streams on your cheeks.
Your chest will hold the fear of another stumble,
And your ears will be ringing with the mantra,
“Never again, Never again.”
But you get up again.
Wiping gravel from your palms,
Unashamed of amputated wheels you’ve outgrown,
Committed to whatever it takes.
Because while the pain of shedding blood
Can sometimes feel too much to bare,
The cost will be worth it
With the wind in your hair—
It’s a bloody business.
But it’s in the rising from the earth
and starting again that you know
you’re really living.
