My wings are broken.
I wonder the world
in search of new ones,
wings that don’t come with strings attached,
wings of my own,
a certain length.
a certain color.
I wish to be free. I choose to be free.
I wish to be level headed,
to reach the skies, not too high,
I don’t want to be blinded by the sun,
and not too low,
I don’t want to be absorbed by the ground below.
Just in between.
The in between place of happiness and pain.
I can’t wait
to find these new wings of mine.
Disclaimer: The views in this article are those of the author. Prison Journalism Project has verified the writer’s identity and basic facts such as the names of institutions mentioned.