The Thoughts
The Thoughts


When did I life started hurting myself
This hate that brews in my body
From the terribleness of society
I push dagger after dagger into my spine
I thought it would help me stand straighter
Be more to your liking, or at least help me
Cope to the harshness you throw at me
I thought if only I was sharper than you
Maybe I could handle it better.
Better, it would have been better
If I had realized my softness was my light
The feather-ness of my soul's flight
Because, no god, but I myself,
I have cut off my own wings
I am a mannequin- hard, heavy
And a subject to your devices
‘You’, who are you, but myself,
Moulded into a weapon of desp
air
I stand there laughing as I try to
unbend myself, I push myself
Further into the ground,
I am left breathing dust,
I crave the air, the ease of innocence,
That pours down from a leafless tree
The staggering oxygen of hope that
Keeps it alive through the winters
Because it knows it will blossom again.
I want to be that tree,
I will not be a gun anymore,
My roots can be my face, I don’t care,
I will drink the dark water there
I know it will boil away the iron
That I have clad my body into
So that, ironically somehow,
My feet will be closer to the sky that
I ache to fly in again,
I will fly again,
I will be the bird again