Wings
by Riosuu

When I was a child, I bore wings on my back.
They were pure white with soft feathers, the feel of baby’s skin.
I was able to fly to the top of the highest mountains,
Able to soar above the clouds and see the gates of heaven.

But then one day, I decided to walk on earth;
And when my back was turned, a person thought of as friend ripped my wings off.
They had sold them to someone who hated me for no reason.

The pain was excruciating.
It was as if my body was hit by lightning and my heart was stabed through the bones on my back.
I fell there, crying my last tears, as no one helped my bleeding torso.
That day I lost all my blood, all my tears, all my pearly white feathers that gleamed when I flew towards the sun.

Now I look and see and listen and decipher, but I do not feel.
My body went numb when I lost my blood.
I tell people, when they think I act rude, that I had wings but they were ripped off one and I lost all my blood and my body numbed.

Then they ask me to see the scars.
I show them my back, but the scars went somewhere only I could see.

Sometimes, I think I’ve grown them again, but I look back to find my shoulder blades bare.

So I walk with humans, but not really.
The spirits of my wings take me back to clouds in my mind sometimes.

They still don’t believe me, though.
That I once soared the skies and hugged the clouds as I dreamt on the soft cushions.
They can only see my scaly skin, black as onyx;
And not the white softness I once had in its place.