I am letting you go.
The handcuff was now
broken and, too,
the chain on your feet.
The rope on your wings
finally had been cut.
Funny how I tied it
yet I was also the scissor.
Funny how I locked you up
yet I became the key.
I forced you,
I captured you
knowing not
you need to be free,
Sorry is never enough,
I know.
And setting you free
is the only thing left
so you could be saved
by an unknown.
And I'm giving you
your freedom now.
Take, lastly,
a look at me.
Stare at my smile
as I watch you,
freely,
grip your heart
and walk
and fly.
Tears started streaming
down my face
but joy is visible in my eyes.
I am aching
and so you are.
I love you still
even when I saw your wings
fly away from me.
And I loved you even more
when you tear it off your body,
turn around,
come near me,
and hug me
and kiss me
on my forehead,
choosing to stay.
YOU ARE READING
She
Poetry"A book is she that has countless pages, blood is her inks, and her pain writes." This story contains prose and short poetries that is all about a woman's point of view of love and life.
