My heart is the robin's egg that fell from it's nest.
Delicate, cracked,
the prettiest shade of blue
Not pulled away by the gasp of the wind,
Not scooted out by an unforgiving orange feline

My heart tried to fly before it's robin had hatched.
Even dreams(ers) have their limitations

Emerging from the blue shell the creature is wounded
very much alive,
very much curious,
newly cautious.
Wings unfolded but yet to soar.

Perhaps one day the wind will guide.

Perhaps one day the dreams will be suited

Perhaps one day I'll fly

*but first I will heal