Steel Wings

Scars.

We all have them, yet we seem to have the misconception that if you bear their ugly mark then you are an abomination. We judge those whose scars are visible, we crush their wings in hope to gain space to spread our own, for we believe that is the only way to fly.

Little do you know that the glistening stars that beckon from above, whispering promises of dreams made reality with skies that know no limits, of a world that lives and breaths perfection whisper only of lies.

Perfection is a lie

Perfection is something the human race can never and will never achieve.

We all bear the scars of our fears,of our pains, of our regrets and deepest worries.

Little do we realize that scars are the truths, the fingerprints of our souls.

Worth far more than the acts performed in light, the acts in darkness are the acts of truth. Those performed in the impending solitude and silence of darkness are without thought of others, without the social pressure of this monster we call society. In the light, we are seen. We are heard. We are sensed, but rarely are we acknowledged. If you choose to bear your scars, to plea for help, we are ignored; we as humans are afraid of ourselves. We fear that which we have created.

We fear society, yet we embrace it.

We depend on it to survive like a drug addict that has gone past the point of no return. Much like the addict, we are too weak to stand without our drug.

We are too weak to swim against the current and hear the calls of those who are brave. Of those with wings of steel, for those who fly alone have the strongest wings of all.

We ignore those that have had to be strong for far too long. Humans truly are despicable. We all bear scars, but we choose to look down on those who in reality fly above us. Our choice is not to admire those who are brave enough to ask for help, for this is an act or strength and not of weakness, but to shun them. We allow their pleas to fall upon deceptively deaf ears; unhearing, uncaring. To consider them lesser and to bear witness to the blood spilt from of their souls. Whether it be by our hands or their own, from their bodies or minds matters not, for either way causes pain and blood to stain hands and minds alike. Causes wounds and scars. Causes a feather to be plucked if the wings, until there are simply not enough feathers to support the wings.

The thing is, scars don't mean you're injured, it means that you are strong enough to bear the wounds heal. They are not a burden that marks you as less worthy to be human, but rather proof that you are more than worthy to be one.

Show me your scars, rest your wings of steel, for even metal can wear. Allow the tears you cry to heal you, for crying doesn't mean you are weak. It means you've been strong for too long.

Show your scars. Call for help, and I will come.