Mirage.

wings.

i do, even when I don't
believe, I mean
hope, secretly
wish on broken fairy lights
broken wishes find nothing better to hold onto
how many man does it take to fix a light bulb?
none, I whisper
i have not known enough men in my life, just voices of authority and temporary solace
who hide under the mask of being men
what does it mean, to be men, women, birds, martyrs, dying honey bees in a terrible monsoon
within drenched realities of potholes and puddles
where my childhood still jumps and scrapes it's knees
i never knew what it felt to have butterflies erupt in my stomach
and feel their flutter in my laughter, they scare me, all winged insects do
i have been mocked before,
my fear of insects misunderstood,
but i'm not scared of wings
or to trip into a world with no meaning,
not that our existence holds any either way
i am not scared, honestly, of the rhetorics of daily routines and internalized desires
to have warm soup when my body burns with fever
fevers are good,
fevers make me burn and no one else holds the match sticks
and I know that the fireworks that erupt as headaches as my fever worsens are here to stay but only temporarily,
just like the fireworks in my heart that certain people set free
i am scared of winged insects,
and of people who set fireworks instead of butterflies in my skin and bones,
but I am not scared of wings.