Stitched on Wings

Anger, frustration, and hate.
Three words I’m so use too.
These damn wings won’t let me fly.
Everyone else is flying but me…

I rip them off
Blood squirts from my back.
The pain is almost unbearable,
But I get them off.

I stare at the decapitated wings.
Useless things.
I cannot even bear to look at them. They never worked.
It was them, it wasn’t me.

The scars are never replaced.
Blood seeps through them.
My light grows angry.
I should’ve tried harder.

They begin stitching them back.
They force me to try and try again.
No matter how much I argue, they don’t stop.
This light is oh so stubborn.

Stitch after stitch
Wince after wince.
As time passes, the wings are back
My scars are gone.

The light is stubborn.
It grows brighter and brighter.
Blinding light!
I do not snarl at it, though
I praise the blinding light.

They reach me up and whisper:
“One more time”
I slowly rise to my feet and off the ground.
The wings work now.

It was never the wings, it was me.
The darkness conquered my hopes and dreams,
But now the light helps.
The light helps me fly once again.