Sometimes, I wish I were a tortoise.
Or a horse.
Or a lizard.
To be human is to be cursed.
No other creature can make a mistake,
and turn it into a hundred.
How silly.
To put more into concealing my strangeness,
than displaying my coloured wings.
To work me up into a hot mess of nerves,
Because where I should be is not who I am.
So I hide what I deem others think ugly,
And force what I believe others would like.
That feeble, crooked smile,
Which only makes it worse.
I am not me. I am someone else.
I can relax when the door clicks behind me,
And no one is with me; only the dog.
My senses touch spirit again.
I know this can change. I know I can fly.
I’ve tasted it, like the cold air outside.
I’m close, but I’m not there yet.
All I need is to honour my self,
To remember who I am again.
