i somehow
knew
you'd
find someone
with
real,
natural wings.
because
why
would you
choose
my wings?
i am very
ordinary.
i only wish,
for
what's on your
back.
and it hurts
–to carry
what doesn't
belong on
my shoulders.
and to
see your
cheeks burn
and turn
a bright
crimson
when you
mention
his name.
YOU ARE READING
plastic
شِعرmost wings are made of bones and skin and feathers, but what if mine are made of nothing but rubber and glue?
