i've spent
countless
hours
and days
crafting,
with old
plastic
and hard
rubber,
my wings.
in hopes
that you'll
see them,
smile, and
believe
that we're
one and
the same.
but yours
are made
of pale
feathers
and bones.
against
the sun
they glow
in a
bright gold
outline.
yours are
light and
they rest
peacefully
along
your strong
shoulders.
mine are
made of
plastic
and glue.
the sun
will melt
the glue
and my
wings will
crumble.
my weak
shoulders
cannot
carry
their weight.
your wings
are a
milky,
soft white.
mine are
technicolor
scraps from
what i
could find.
your wings
are a
natural
beauty.
YOU ARE READING
plastic
Poetrymost wings are made of bones and skin and feathers, but what if mine are made of nothing but rubber and glue?
