Every room has a din.
You just have to listen
hard enough.
This din was a spoken one,
like where actors mutter
"...rhubarb, rhubarb..."
Her steps made a percussive
clacking sound
that echoed from
wall to wall,
pervasive and acute.
But what truly stuck out
did so from only one side.
Her, the weird one.
Her, accident prone.
Her, the girl with
one wing.
In a room full of faeries,
she stuck out.
An entire people
who hid themselves by day,
and she
was sequestered.
Everything
twisted
down
in a
s
p
i
r
a
l
i
n
g
d
e
s
c
e
n
t
But what would you expect
from a girl with one wing?
Aug 21, 2013
Aug 21, 2013 at 3:42 PM UTC
Every room has a din.
You just have to listen
hard enough.
This din was a spoken one,
like where actors mutter
"...rhubarb, rhubarb..."
Her steps made a percussive
clacking sound
that echoed from
wall to wall,
pervasive and acute.
But what truly stuck out
did so from only one side.
Her, the weird one.
Her, accident prone.
Her, the girl with
one wing.
In a room full of faeries,
she stuck out.
An entire people
who hid themselves by day,
and she
was sequestered.
Everything
twisted
down
in a
s
p
i
r
a
l
i
n
g
d
e
s
c
e
n
t
But what would you expect
from a girl with one wing?
Request permission to use this poem