I am a

one-winged angel—

You are my Other.

You help me see

from a different


from above,

the greater things are small.

Being with you—

is all.


You reflect my name.

My Dreams

are a mirage—

the sunlight,

too bright.


A side of me is unsure

and is still touching

the ground.

A crooked

and failed


I’d like to take off

as much as I can.


Shake, quivering.

The silence is cold.

And I can’t stand it.

I ache to be gliding

with no reason

to return.

A sewn wing,

air flowing

through the stitches,


floating on a breath.


Who am I to dream such dreams?

Fragile as they are.

Is it a privilege,

or a right?


Must I escape?

Run away

to feel free

of what I bring with me?

Feathers tethered, worn.

The ages defy me.


Time exposes

the depth of my frustration

with the world.

Why is it

so hard

to breathe?


The stitches are inflamed.


I am a half-phoenix,

surviving solely on perseverance.



that one day

I will be fully mended

or be able

to take that patch-quilt

of a wing

and let it

carry me,

like a sail

in the wind.




It feels like

we are still in the honeymoon phase;

Who wouldn’t want one

this long?

And he is still gooey sweet,

his light

highlights mine.

The world is immensely



In travel, I am invisibly


Padding makes the world


Nothing to trip over.

If we fumble,

we stabilize each other.


Never have I known such


Thought it was folklore.

When everyone said

I would “find” someone,

doubt was my only companion.

And fear that I would be

the exception.


My mind conjures up

ideas I never considered


moving cross-country.

Because wherever we are,

I am home.

Am I the exception?

Did I get lucky?

Or did everyone know this

could be,

before me?


I am the moon

that reflects the light

of the other,

and makes it her own.

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