1d
Winged thing,
bruised blueprint,
longing inked into bone—
how does the sky taste
when you flee instead of follow?
I have seen you—
a breath stolen mid-exhale,
a contradiction unraveling,
a hymn hummed through clenched teeth.
you call it survival.
I call it the ache of knowing
you were never meant to land.
what is wisdom
but a body fluent in exile,
a home that never stays?
tell me—
when the air stills,
when silence sutures your shadow to the dirt,
will you miss the flight,
or
only the myth of almost arriving?
bruised blueprint,
longing inked into bone—
how does the sky taste
when you flee instead of follow?
I have seen you—
a breath stolen mid-exhale,
a contradiction unraveling,
a hymn hummed through clenched teeth.
you call it survival.
I call it the ache of knowing
you were never meant to land.
what is wisdom
but a body fluent in exile,
a home that never stays?
tell me—
when the air stills,
when silence sutures your shadow to the dirt,
will you miss the flight,
or
only the myth of almost arriving?
(16/F)
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