It is on my tongue—
a feeling
palatable,
aerodynamic transition,
palpable.
Redesigning for flight,
for movement through resistance,
for letting go of drag.
Whereas my muscles would tense up,
a few inches from the ground—
now I’ve learned that to clip one’s wings
is to stay anchored, be shackled down.
Not that being grounded
isn’t a form of comfort, safety, or security—
but there’s a shift that comes
from renegotiating the terms
you’ve set with your own mind.
It’s a daunting challenge,
yet a necessary one.
Because I want to see the world,
not from behind a pane of glass,
but with wind in my lungs
and wonder in my chest.
And I want to fall in love—
falling into bed with you,
multiple strings attached,
and still feel like the luckiest person alive.
To do that,
I am taking flight
in ways I could not have foreseen
as a child.
Written in chorus with the poets of HelloPoetry—this flight is ours.
