Should I try to fly?
Is escape really worth it?
What am I fleeing if not myself?
If, then, I was free,
Would that make a difference?
Or would I carry my pain with me?

If I flew would rain still weigh me down?
Would the clouds obscure my view?
Would lightning strike my fragile wings?
Or, perhaps,
Would I breach the bounds of clouds?
And soar in constant light?

On what have I based my fear?
Some assumption of the dark of the human heart?
Are the forces I flee chasing me?
Or are they too,
Already within me, a fabrication as an excuse,
To cling onto the idea I am broken.