You see these wings?
They’re my wings.
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
my wings,
*wake up.
