To my mother I am a wounded baby
bird whose wings are clipped.
She fears that when I fly from the nest
I will fall to my death as much as I do.
Life has given us excuses for why I
shouldn't fly from the nest yet.
The economy.
Fated trauma.
Emotional crutches.
My wounded wings.
These experiences bonded us.
What she can't understand is that while
sulking over my clipped wings something
awakened within me.
A fire inside has stirred.
Some call it a soul calling.
Some call it soul searching.
Some call it divine intervention.
I call it answering my purpose.
Writing to create art that heals others
while I heal my own wings is my purpose.
My mother does want success for me but
she fears losing me more.
She answered the societal call to settle for
less.
While I only answer to my soul's call to
receive abundance.
She fears what she hasn't experienced.
I am not painting my mother in a bad light.
No, I am painting her as just being human.
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Author:
Destiny\'s Perspective (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: June 12th, 2022 02:20
- Comment from author about the poem: This is a personal poem. My living situation has been a thorn in my side for a long time. When I reference clipped wings I am referring to being disabled. I will be thirty next month and my current life situation has been upsetting me the older I get. Writing really is my only outlet and it's become my new coping mechanism. I really hope to get off government assistance one day through writing and other artistic endeavors.
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 6
- Users favorite of this poem: Accidental Poet
Offline)
Comments1
Beautifully written Destiny. I ask that you read my last entry of "Passion". I believe you'll find it relative to your poem here. 😉
Thank you I will definitely read it!
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