Sitting on my swing- poem

1. Sitting on my swing:

   I had wings once,

   Stubby little things with no feathers,

   But they grew, a little stunted.

   I stretched and flapped, refusing to be flightless.

    

   For a time I knew the sun, the wind

   But I never trusted those wings.

   I feared they would falter,

   And somehow bring me back to earth.

    

   Surprisingly, it was not my wings but the sun.

   I forgot  it can blind you.

   I hit a wall, repeatedly until I had no strength to try again.

    

   For a long time I was content to be broken,

   To suffer and forget about the sky.

   Part of me believed this was the inevitable price of dreaming

   Dreams I was never meant to have.

    

   Now, I sit in my cadge and people call me a survivor and inspiring.

   They think I have persevered beyond my handicaps, limitations and self-inflicted harm

   But they are wrong.

    

   If they only knew how it hurts to breathe, remembering.

   How the sweet voices encouraging me to raise my twisted wings

   Only serve to remind me of the carelessness that got me here.

    

   How long will I stay safe in my cadge?

   My heart still remembers, still longs to fly.

   But I do not have the will to believe in second chances.

   And my heart curses me for such a selfish betrayal.

    

   AC Nov 2012