Adventura, Poetry
Comment 1

Wings

There are no angels
where you are, my dear,
only you and your hollow chest.

When will you finally
grow tired of the birds that
come and go as they please?

They don’t love you like you love them.

Things that grow wings
are destined to outgrow you,
things that fly are destined to leave.

You can’t rely on clipped wings forever.

I can still see the claw marks
from when they swooped in
just to crawl their way
back out of you.

Have you forgotten what that felt like?

You’re hoping for a change
but change doesn’t come to you, my dear,

it comes from within.

This entry was posted in: Adventura, Poetry

by

Hi, I’m Emily and I like to think of myself as a kaleidoscope, but one that ranges from a spectrum of commitment issues to emotional hoarding, all circling around varying shades of anxiety. People say I have trouble ‘staying present’ and I’ve found that daydreaming becomes significantly less acceptable in your 20’s.

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