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.