Do butterflies realize their beauty,
The wonderful way in which they fly,
Or do they compare themselves to every insect
Wondering if they should hide their colorful wings with dye.

Do they admire their wing’s softness
Their calming patterns, soft and light
Or do they think there’s something wrong with them
If there's something faulty with their size

Do they hate carrying the weight
of those stunning patterned wings
Do they ask themselves why they don't look the same
Or do they realize it is because they're queens.

Do they recognize they have nothing to be jealous of.
That they’re special and unique
Those wings are part of who they are
And without them, they would just be weak.

Do butterflies realize their wings’ beauty
And know they need them to reach the sky
Because without them they would be incomplete
And would remain “butter” without “fly”.

Young bird learns to fly
By spreading his wings widely
His lungs get relax

They'll tell you how beautiful are your wings,

While they bind your pinions and strip your feathers.

"So graceful and so precious!  Such lofty, ethereal things,"

The words like rusty chains, cracked leather-sentiment tethers.

They'll tell you, "Rise above the sorrow, fly from the pain,"

After they teach you to clip your own wings so you won't fall,

And when the confusion sets in they'll be the first to tell you you're sane.

"People can't fly," they'll say, and point to the wings nailed to their wall.

You pushed her so hard,
to fly as high as she could.
As high as the mountains,
as high as the stars.
You pushed her so hard,
though she can't,
till she fell and broke her wings.
Now, her broken wings
could never fly,
can't even reach the tree,
she always dreamt to be.

i was a soul whose life was all about
my own blood, flesh and bones.
i never indulge into your flight,
but you envied my sky
which was offer to me, to fly.
it was you, who compared
yourself to me.
then why you are blaming me
for your choices.
i was fine with my imperfections;
my demons and angels.
just because you couldn't
tackle your negativity,
you had no right to raise your finger
at me, as i never caused your problems.
when all i did was pass by
from your life.
i was a stranger to you.
yet you stabbed me with your
poisonous words.
shot me with your negativity.
cut my wings, by accusing me.
if you couldn't achieved your dreams,
why you killed my dreams?.
was i an easy prey—
or your failure hurt your ego!.

Tell me, my dear,   why      you keep

that golden sun beetle      tied so       tightly around your neck?

You say       that you feel naked without it, as

                           it hangs gently

        over your *******.

                         But let me tell you something.

I feel naked without you wrapped around my neck.

                      I am totally and completely exposed without your love

       to shield me from the night.

But your arms are not a ribbon.

                                  I cannot keep you on

a leash.

             Nor do I want to.

Darling, you are           the most valuable thing in the universe            to me.

And because             you mean so much,                     I must let you fly free.

I cannot keep you tied around my neck like the scarab on yours.

I can only hope that you'd willingly hang around.

There once was
a moth that
had wings
of crystal
and when
he tried to fly,
he always dropped to the ground
and shattered into a million pieces.

Sometimes, I feel like that moth.

But I look into your
eyes and see
the
magic
that rests there
and I remember that
moths are beautiful, and
even when broken, crystals
are beautiful, too.

i wonder
how we managed
to convince our hands
not to hold onto each other
when we said goodbye.

now, i'm writing
inside this flying can;
thinking this might be the closest
to a home.

these small seats,
with even smaller legs space.
these funny-shaped windows,
where all you can see are
white clouds,
and sporadically
some lights.
tiny houses,
with even tinier people.

and us,
tiny giants,
reading overpriced perfume catalogs,
listening to mispronounced english,
using disposable low-fidelity headphones,
inside low-light low-love low-cost
low-everything
airplanes.

the next time i dream
i want to remember i'm dreaming
so i can soar
so i can fly
and alter its reality to my vision
to terraform the mind
but who says you must take the reigns,
there's lucidity to you now,
but must you wrestle control?