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Let me tell you about my wings

by Anonymous

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.

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Image: Chinese painting (ca.1800–1899) from the Miriam and Ira D. Wallach Division of Art, Prints and Photographs: Art & Architecture Collection. 

The poem, "Let me tell you about my wings" describes my awkward childhood and how I grew to be an independent woman who is comfortable with herself and who thoroughly enjoyed life. That changed when I was traveling alone in a foreign country. I was on the porch of the hotel and a man who worked there saw me enjoying the view. My energy was so high, I felt on top of the world. I could sense he desired me, but didn't think anything of it. But when I ordered food and drink from the hotel, he drugged and raped me. I awoke to a pretty horrific scene, and being alone and not speaking the local language made the whole ordeal a thousand times worse. When I returned home, I fell into a pretty dark state, where I cried almost every day for months and stopped seeing colours properly. It has been three years now, and while it's no longer a daily struggle for me, even now some things can trigger me so hard that feel like I'm in the same state of despair as when I first woke up. This poem is about strength and looking forward. It is written from a point in time when I am still in a defensive mode, and just beginning to set my mind to rebuilding myself - but critically it hasn't happened yet. Sometimes I worry about whether I'll ever be able to achieve the stage described in the final paragraphs of the poem. 

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