Half Myself

I imagined I sprouted pixie wings from my scapula.
The glittery branches belonging to the species of fairy
known for trickery and thievery.

As my wings began to beat my arms stood still
restraining my hands from writing, finding no use.
My pixie wings broke from my body,
grinding with my ribs, taking my arms and hands that snatched my heart,
and stitched my lips silent.

My spirit withered, curling in my uncomprehending chest,
craving the time when passion and expression returned with retribution.
Half myself, I waited with hair, and ears, and blurred eyes,
but how do you find what you’re looking for when you’re looking for yourself?
If you manage to follow the nebulous trail of pixie dust,
how can you forgive yourself for leaving?

10/04/2007

Author's Note: Again, that feeling of not being able to use my arms and the kind of depression that comes with pain and not being able to do what you live for.

Posted on 10/05/2007
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