My Own Wings

"The next day is a working day"

At least thats what most people say

And Ive done just that, get up and worked

At least sometimes the work entails getting up

Morning, evening, night

Rinsing and repeated like a tired wash cloth

Wringing out all the water

This is what I call "survival" 

And suddenly my energy aint mine no more

Its a symbolic piece on display for others to misinterpret

When I'm spokewn for, told "this is what you are" I put my head down, shrug and nod

Confirming that that is all I could ever 

Well everything is chain reaction

Looking myself in the mirror was mine

Which was odd

Because in all those mornings, evenings, and nights

I had never stopped and stared

Never dared to look at what was right in front of me

And all I could see was a broken down soul

that went by the name "Maya" 

I'd gotten closer,

seen the groves in my skin,

the eyebags--all of which told a story

But what started an ended my story were my eyes, the window to the soul

that lurked inside

That resulted from years of shapeshifting, silence, and picking myself up from my bootstraps

So today I choose to liberate myself by saying, "I need rest"

In the sense that I'm soaking in the light of my own presence in present-tense

And leisurely laying in the sand of my own dreams

Today I choose to spread my wings and fly

 

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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