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Wingless fly
Sometimes I peer into my mind.
And I see a wingless fly.
I stare hard at my mirror,
wishing I was a butterfly.
I begin to cry.
Every single time.
I feel their dozen, red eyes watching mine.
Wondering why,
I am the way I am.
As if I could give an answer.
I know I am the weakest of the pack.
Nothing. Even compared to the one who slacks.
The wingless get the most flack.
Because no matter how hard we try.
We can never escape our circumstance.
But then, I crawl.
I crawl
and I crawl.
Across the table floor.
As I jump off the ledge, accepting my uselessness.
I begin to soar.
© DolorTheDaimone
And I see a wingless fly.
I stare hard at my mirror,
wishing I was a butterfly.
I begin to cry.
Every single time.
I feel their dozen, red eyes watching mine.
Wondering why,
I am the way I am.
As if I could give an answer.
I know I am the weakest of the pack.
Nothing. Even compared to the one who slacks.
The wingless get the most flack.
Because no matter how hard we try.
We can never escape our circumstance.
But then, I crawl.
I crawl
and I crawl.
Across the table floor.
As I jump off the ledge, accepting my uselessness.
I begin to soar.
© DolorTheDaimone
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