They painted me as a precious child,
Whispering illusions of protection from a world they deemed cruel.
Yet they sliced through my feathers,
Wielding the blade that severed my wings.
Now, in the cocoon of my own blood,
Surrounded by shattered dreams,
I lie upon the cold ground,
Bounded by the weight of their deceit,
Gazing at the sky,
An estranged witness to the beauty that once was within reach.

As shadows lengthen,
I crawl through the debris of broken aspirations,
My heart aching more
Than the shards that cut the surface of my skin.
Yet I find myself ensnared by the chains of their fears,
So I stand at the crossroads of conformity
And the yearning to amass the fragments,
As silent...