When I was young, I knew how to fly
Until one morning, my mother and I
Sat down to cut my wings
And talk of imagination and other things
That were not real.
We picked up the feathers, and watched them disappear
As I learned of things I shouldn’t do and things that I must
fear
“Ground yourself,” she said,
“Tame your heart and use your head.
And with tiny thread, the wounds of no more flight were
sealed
I forgot that once, when I was young, I knew how to fly
I held my shield with pride
As I tried to make my way, stumbling from side to side
Made friends with duty, found religion and in it the
Almighty God
And built an armor of rules and orders
Around my heart I built a million borders
And like jewels I wore the do’s and don’ts
Until the chains reached into my bones
And I sat within my prison
Justifying to my heart the pain
In the name of blind, misguided reason
Then I grew older, and I knew
that I’d forgotten how to fly
And I whispered to my heart
that I remembered how we grew apart
And I let myself be weak and scream and cry
Until one day, my mother and I
Sat under a blooming tree
Weaving dreams into our wings to set us free.
