Poetry

Melancholic flight

Looking at the world without the glass of pretence that she’s been wearing all her life. 

Stepping into the being she had been suppressing, turning a blind eye to judgemental and prejudice knives stabbing her in her most valuable organs. 

Little bird at last finding her wings, stretching them out; seeing its colors glitter in the sun’s rays. 

The world has always been a cold place for her; not knowing who she really is, hurting her, leaving scars she tries so hard to bury. 

She doesn’t wear her heart on her sleeve anymore. Hides its shattered pieces ways from her predators…

The sun rises as she prepares for take off…

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