wings clipped

I was told I could do anything,

be anything,

and I believed them.

“The sky is the limit,”

they said.

 

“Shoot for the moon,”

they ordered,

“if you miss, you’ll land

among the stars,”

they proclaimed.

 

I followed their words,

starting out

on a dusty road.

Sacrificing and striving

to learn how to fly.

 

I shot for the moon,

determined to explore

determined to explode

with my passion

and my learning.

 

But I missed.

Chains encircled me,

lashing me

down and down,

grounding me.

 

The horror

of being bound,

flightless, while

a ceiling appeared,

trapping down.

 

I could see

the moon.

But only through

lenses of glass,

chains of sex.

 

And now here I am,

beating futilely

against the binds

of my birth,

flightless again.

 

Around me,

warm winds blossom,

lifting others up.

but here it is cold

and merciless.

 

They told me to fly,

to soar above the rest.

Now I am the rest,

and this will be

the rest of my life.

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