Will I Feel the Wind

Long ago, as many teens do, I wrote poetry now and then. And then I learned to hate my poetry, and I stopped. I wonder if I could just be kind to myself and enjoy trying?

Will I Feel the Wind

I can’t feel my wings.
Have I held them stiff so long they’re numb?

I used to fly in dreams,
gravity and air my dance partners.

But wings bring risk,
greatness more frightening than inspiring.

Feeling more danger than delight,
The familiar posture stuck:

Tucked tight, cramped, hidden.
I didn’t notice when I could ease up.

This tension grew comfortable.
I can’t stretch them wide just yet.

Muscles weak, tingling, straining.
This tender burn of fragile self-love.

Will I feel the wind?
Will it grace me with lift?
Will it hold me like a friend?