As a child I wondered what it'd be like to be an angel
Soaring through the heavens on white feathers, playing golden harps in tune with the whistling of the wind.

And so I stepped onto flightless wings and let their hands guide me to the skies.
I looked up,
Up to where the the clouds floated
Where the winds lifted my hair with mischief and whispered songs of freedom
Where the ground was but a memory miles away
Where my fingertips felt like they could touch the infinite blue

...

Now, as I fall, I think mournfully to myself
What a childish dream it was, to think I could ever leave the shackles of the ground

And yet...
And yet
I find myself 10 again
Waiting for the next brush of heaven

I can’t seem to name
This feeling

Not hunger—
I had breakfast.
Not fatigue—
I slept a full 8 hours last night.
Not laziness—
PE was today
Not stress—
Exams are over. For now.
Not sadness—
But not happiness either.
Not fear—
My heart beats slow.
Not loneliness—
I’m surrounded by people.
Not guilt—
I’ve done nothing wrong
Not peace—
This fog doesn’t count
Not confusion—
I don’t care right now

I wear
Mismatched socks—
yellow and blue.
Tie my hair off-center,

A quiet defiance
Against the perfection
Society demands

They call it chaos.
I call it freedom.
To me,
Imperfections are beautiful.

Black and blue marks
On my arm—
Ink, of course. What else?
Words, thoughts, feelings, fears
Written, smudged, then erased.
Leftover streaks,
They wash away
With a smidge of soap and water.
And yet…
I can’t help but remember
When I wrote
With mechanical pencils
And staple bullets
Instead of ballpoint pens
And gel ones.
When I watched the ink,
A gorgeous shade of rubies,
Trickle
Down to my wrist
Like a rivulet of lava.
Now, the fire has long faded
Leaving white ashes
That won’t come off

I miss the friends who
Would ask if I was okay
So I could say no