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 despair

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