Birthday

I am looking outside a window to another
building with other windows looking out,
gaping at the gap. I just turned 21 today
and the first thought I had this morning was that
I was 21 and I haven't punched anyone in the face.
Nor have I ever been punched in the face.
You must understand: I am not a violent man.
Some people would think that I just became a man
today. I would think of punching them
and measuring the gap between this window
and the window in the other building in fists thrown
before they (or I) back down against one.
Again, I am not a violent man. But sometimes
I feel like I'm falling from the 23rd floor (I am
on the 15th and how many floors does this building
have again? I cannot remember). And I might
die without having my face rearranged
by anger or jealousy or simple animalistic rage.
Or I wouldn't be so high as to have a nosebleed
in perfect cold. On my way to the office I saw death
pull out the insides of cats and frogs and the other
animals who were spared from the same fate
were boringly walking past, not conscious
that they had those insides inside them too.
I felt like vomiting. I closed my eyes and opened
the door to that room in my head that held flowers.
Hundreds of flowers. I thought I could die
right now and I do not want to look at flowers.
I know of beauty. I am 21 and I have enough pictures
to prove that I am, was, can be happy.
I have a playlist in my iPod full of happy songs.
My girlfriend says I love you every morning.
But now I am 21 and I am conscious of the gap
and someone please punch me and break
through that room in my head. Let me see
the things I have been missing. I have loved.
Come here. Give me a good reason to fight.