Poetry · Writing

Wings

I got a bone to pick like roses

I ain’t feelin’ broken no more-

 

I haven’t stopped, you’re playing twenty-five eight

self-torture, self-care is on the list- though.

 

and I’d put some money on forever

still swimming like an ocean

 

no second hand- beating yourself up

this is something serious.

 

and I know it’s up to me

ball in my court, keeping score

 

crossing lanes new and new

and you’ll play from time to time.

 

and the walls keep gettin’ wider, I just hope I never find ’em

no, no and these are my wings

 

a second to adjust and take off

and I’ll shoot.

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