Foolish Bird

Wounded wings stretched high, damaged feathers rustle in the night air. 

Toes to the edge; listen for the echoes of rocks tumbling down the canyon walls. 

Long, careless tumble.

You do not want me, and yet I am plagued by thoughts of you. 

Something was different. In your kiss, in your eyes. There was something different. 

I saw it, you saw it too. When you looked at me, you saw right through me, I felt it. 

Maybe I’ve imagined it all, but it felt so real. 

And then you pushed me away.

I’m terrified of being hurt, but I fear it is already too late. 

The heart burst forth from the chains of regret and leapt in to your outstretched arms, 

not realizing that those arms were already pushing away. 

You don’t want to get hurt, so you choose not to engage, 

deeming the risk of hurt as too great, not worth the risk of falling.

For the sake of knowing how it feels to fly, I would risk the fall.

But if you wanted me in your life, it would happen, 

and I need to accept that you don’t, no matter what I felt.

And I thought I could be friends with you and wait it out, 

but it turns out that I’m not that strong. 

I have held you and you have held me. 

We have laughed and shared stories; 

your eyes have seen through me and your fingers have traced my lines. 

Fingernails across a strong back, lips to neck, 

and I cannot separate it out, the having of that, and the not having that.

Toes to the edge, I tumbled down, careless and ridiculous, 

laughing till I realized I would not be caught, 

then cried the ugly cry that leaves swollen eyes. 

Free fall with damaged wings and bruised up heart. 

Careless, foolish bird.

But, oh, to fly again.

I would risk it all.