I didn’t paint them on my eyes, strap them on for a pageant, play, or Halloween night I didn’t tattoo them on the small of my back to feel the sting of satisfaction of an image I can’t see
My wings, are right between my shoulder blades with spreading feathers like a warm hug after a long winter’s day when you come home to the one that loves you and they stoke the fire and stroke your cheeks until they fall asleep at your feet
My wings, have tips that stretch around the world, brushing the cheeks of crying children lifting the chins of the concerned, confused mothers and smoothing the hair of the disheveled, drowning fathers
And it breaks my heart that my wings, have always been there from the moment I clutched the bars of my crib screaming my mother’s name in desperation to the moment I released her hand in a promise to be home at midnight on my first date with a boy who had smiled at me in Spanish class
And my wings, were here when the same boys that smiled turned to a new wind, and took flight without me My wings, were here every single day I couldn’t roll out of bed couldn’t make it on time couldn’t call my mama back and couldn’t find my **** way home
My wings, have been waiting for me to finally believe that they’ve always been there, and when the world feels like too much