My wings were once clipped,
cut from me, leaving dark
wounds in its place. The
will to grow them back, to
heal them, was gone
and the freedom
I long awaited for vanished.
Can someone grow their wings?
Grow your wings, spend years trying
a remedy that never worked. My
heart became a broken piece of glass,
with untrustworthy engraved on it.
Twice as many pieces were glued back.
The glue didn't stuck for long. My
strength didn't need wings anymore.
As I stand here not the same person I was
before, I know have gain the power to be free.
[message, first word of each line]
4/7/16
YOU ARE READING
Standing
Poetry"I choose to believe there are more than three stages in life. For me, I say there are five." Eva Longsten was crumbling, but soon she found life was easier when you were breathing. She was holding onto who she was until she realized releasing he...
