I was born with big ideas. If you could see my wings, you’d understand. They expand from sea to sea. Practically larger than life — they are.
If you could see them, you’d understand. But you see, they’re hidden. Because that’s what happens when light is lost.
Everything needs a little light to grow. Water, and some emotional nutrition, too. Natural ingredients that even the smallest sprout thirsts for.
For me, they were lost though. I didn’t have the things that I needed.
So my wings got caught in the shuffle, too. They seemed to hide behind a skeleton collecting dust in the closet. The one that doesn’t belong to you, because you never asked for it. But lineage hands it down nonetheless.
They were lost. Tucked behind a karmic wheel. The kind that grabs you like fate, forgetting that it’s just a shadow. Yet its powerless energy creates a tornado-like aftermath. Years of therapy might leave its destruction uncluttered, but it’ll cost you.
Unlike that, my wings really exist. They are on top of a mountain where shimmering rays of golden light dust fairy treetops. They lived there. In my imagination, for years, just like this.
Until the day my girlfriend mentions hers. She says that she has wings. Then mine come out to join forces. They make their way out of the closet, where they were never really lost before.
After a trip to India, I found myself grooming them one day. Not sure how or when they arrived, but sure they were mine. Mine indeed. To plume and fancy with delicate love. They were born to be worn with pride.
So I did, I groomed them. Every day with energetic brush strokes. I brought them back to life. Giving them the love and reverence they never found before, but thirsted for so long. I brought them back to life and, with pride, felt their luscious breadth. Spanning from wall to wall in my studio apartment.
Every day I wore them like covert red-hot lava underwear. Almost too hot to wear, because they’re so bitchin’. Breathing fire like respect. Bearing peaceful dovetails, like love. Hearts manifested on their wingtips.
They were mine.
Mine again to behold, so I could take flight. Timid at first, yet to the edge I went. Off to the sky and back. Angelic rights mine again.
A dance of life returned. One my body remembered by beat. It just needed to see the trees again. To remember who I am.
One, two, three. One, two, three.
Like the rap of a heartbeat. My wings came back to me. And this time, I fiercely soared. Higher than before, until just infinity existed. And I knew it did because I could feel it. The world was mine, again.
Wide smile and born again. My birthright restored. Forever etched into my destiny by a feathered wingspan. Like the queen I am.
For more self-study, The Urban Howl recommends The Desire Map: A Guide to Creating Goals with Soul.
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