Teetering on my limits
Tiptoeing to greatness
Or so I whisper fiercely
wistfully
wander off
ledge
Thorns in the hedge tear my wings
Sting my eyes with blood and tears
How many brambles will I shred before
they shred me?
I won't be seen unscathed but rather
Wreathed in crowns of lurid bloody laurel
A halo on my features
As I rise with raw will
Wings sewn to skin
Scarred
but alive.
It isn't a question of if I will soar
or even for how long
but at what cost
and what desiring
of a life that consumes me scars and stitches
blood and feathers
fire with fire of a star
begging for the relief
of matching wills to one
Going Home
Never really falling.
This is why I bleed.
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