I have always had dreams of flying.
So I’m finally learning what it feels like to grow into these wings,
but I haven’t yet mastered the ability to use em.
And Since there aren’t enough fingers on these hands
to count the amount of times I’ve foolishly tried.
In the mean time I’ll just say that the process of waiting feels a lot like becoming a butterfly
Anxiety building its own layer of skin under weaving its own cocoon.
So perhaps it means, that for me? it might still be too soon.
While colors still find their partners to dance upon these wings,
They sing the tune to help provide the reminder that I’m still a beautiful creature too.
So while I haven’t yet learned how to fly
these wings haven’t missed a step in teaching me about time.
So in patience I’m resigned to settle for signs
that might reveal pieces of my broken shell
or past fragments scattered as ashes of my former self
that can slowly tell stories to narrate their way into the books of my shelf.
stories that if I could I would learn the perfect way to tell,
It hurts to know I’m not there yet so for now, i’ll just learn how to read em’,
much like scars grown over our broken skin
are tributes to the memories of past pains still bleeding.
I have spent so much time attempting to see the truest parts of me.
but ironically the process evolves into finding ways for me
to learn how to allow myself to be seen.
Breaking down barriers that have stood strong since I was 9,
When I first told teachers, parents, pastors and friends that I was fine,
but I lied,
and I should have told them my wings were shattered into pieces the day grandpa died.
Now the paralyzing fear acts back as initial instinct to moments of unveiling
with a diminishing and distant hope floating somewhere that I’m constantly prevailing
over my foolish faults and insecurities,
believing that this process was always meant for something
other than learning how to see me
by breaking out of a self-reflected cocoon
finally learning how to be seen.
And I’m tired of hiding,
cause I’ve been cautiously presiding
over the carefully crafted persona that I have selectively revealed
though I have kept hidden pieces of my memories
while purposefully some of my dreams have been sealed.
Ideas of a perfectly crafted life no longer a desired illusion
If we can learn to tell ourselves the truth then it is no longer a delusion.
Because truth doesn’t sell well on the streets.
And you don’t have to be a pusha man to know what to fight for.
It’s all in within your reach, you just need to learn what to fly for.
So these wings flutter to turn truth into sounds,
Echo’s take flight back into the ground giving life in each swoop.
I haven’t yet learned to fly, But I can almost imagine what it feels like.
And I think that’s the first step in tuning ourselves to fly when we sing.
The ability to realize that right in front of your eyes, your finally starting to grow your wings.