I am the red flag
sprawled across your trembling limbs
when the world reminds you
that winter is also a season.

I am a reminder
that perfection exist
only in flawed visions
of how we see others
but refuse to see ourselves.

I'm the one you vent about
but refuse to listen to
because red flags
aren't viewed as imperfections
but as infractions;
Violations of laws
that neither of us agreed to
but live by.

Do you not see your own flags
boldly waving in the wind?
The way I stumble
beneath your force
or cringe
beneath your voice.

Do you talk about the way your flag
clings to it's pole?
Refusing to be pulled down?
Refusing to be burned?

I am like the Earth.
I mold easily
so that you may enjoy the fruits of my soil
and live upon my flaking surface.
But my love,
you are killing me with all you take
and the little in which
you are willing to give
so that we both may live.

She hung on to the edge
afraid to fall
back into the same routine
of plucking petals
and mending broken things.

Her wings, a mess
feathers meshed with hate and lies
from past lovers that scrutinized
the way she drew the skies
with her silhouette
ensuring she would never find
the will to rise or ever fly.

Her wings.