Let me tell you about my wings.

I made them myself.

 

At first they were flimsy.

They fumbled and flopped.

So I started again and made them right.

Despite their clumsiness,

I eventually took flight.

 

As I learned to fly,

I began to plummet and twirl,

To surge and rise.

Once I felt comfortable in the most turbulent of winds,

I made my feathers bold, beautiful, and true.

Not for anyone,

And most certainly not for you.

 

As I soared on a blissful high,

I became blinded to your selfishness.

How was I to know

That you would tear off my wings

And let me fall

– Not gracefully –

And leave me with nothing at all.

 

Suddenly I lay flat on my back, on the ground,

And with less than before.

You took not only my wings,

But a piece of my soul and so much more.

 

You’ve stripped me of everything,

But a single shred of strength.

It’s almost nothing,

But from it I’ll build a nest.

 

I will collect each twig,

And place it with care.

I will stay warm and nestled,

And be sure to leave nothing bare.

 

When spring finally comes,

I will venture out, no longer hiding within.

I will see colours once more,

Feel the warm sun, the fresh breeze on my skin.

 

Soon I will make bigger and better wings,

That stretch across the sky.

The winds will embrace me with joy,

And once more I will soar so high.

 

You will be nothing but a speck of dirt below me,

And I will be far beyond your sight,

Ever closer to the heavens,

And among things more beautiful and right.