when she felt his touch
she knew that there was no place like home
but the feeling was cut short
when home slapped her across the face and walked away.

i think i often represent the butterfly i so often speak of
frail and weak in every step- my plain brown wings are just like the papery disgusting skin i want so badly to break out of, revealing my clearwinged beauty. but i've adapted to this form- i've changed. who cares for being disgusting- better to simply scare away the predators with my big nose and buggy eyes. who cares for being unloved- i do, for solitide is survival in this concrete jungle.
but i know better.
i am no graceful, gentle butterfly. satyrs are still lovely, despite being different, and i am not lovely. i know that these white wings cannot and will not be silenced. the beating drum behind me says otherwise. i am not butterfly. i am a falcon, and i do not dare hide behind a mask of a face. no-

i fight and claw my way out of it.

he was her fallen angel.
his raven black wings which fragmented the light while they flew
shined onto her pale shin and forced her to shield her eyes
but no matter how much she begged
he'd never take her for a ride.
but one day, he finally lifted her
higher and higher they went,
they grazed the clouds and kissed the sky
and then he dropped her.
and only then did she really fly.