If I had wings,
And you held me up
to the light,
You would not,
for one second,
think that I am an angel.

You see,
people like me?
We have wings,
But we do not fly,
because of cages
that have been built
long before we even
understood that we
are trapped,
inside ourselves.

People like me,
Don't just think (a lot)
we dream,
but never with
our eyes closed,
because we are
always prepared
for worst case scenario:
flight response.

People like me
see words as outcomes,
we are always one
sentence away from
our great escape.
We are euphemisms
for bad grammar
and we always get
graded an "F"

We have no full stops,
because we are safe
between the commas and
ellipses of life.
And sometimes,
People like me
hope that the
seizing of existence
can be hyphenated
because we are tired
of waiting for the end.

If I had wings,
I'd probably tear
them off and cut myself.

See, for people like me,
harm is second nature
And we're still
figuring out what is first,
because numbers remind us
of time,
and time reminds us
of how long we've been
broken and damaged and hurt
and still alive because yes,
we hate that too.