My Pegasus wings
I am a child - spreading my wings into imagination. I am air and water, pouring down my neck and giving me giggles as I run. I am a laughter from the belly and the knowing of being free. I am the anger that never stays long, and the joy of soft feet in warm water. I am the innocence that is not lost and the dream that has unicorn horn and Pegasus wings. I am the intense taste of a strawberry in your mouth and the excitement of waking up to a new day.
I walked away from you in my try to be someone I am not. I took duty and poured it into my pockets. I let society tell me my unicorn horn was childish and my Pegasus wings came from mythology. I let eyes that read my words call them amateuristic, or naive, or cliches, and I strived to be better, to be the best, to be good. I just wanted to survive. And through surviving I was dieing. I payed my bills and fill out the papers until the taste of strawberries didn't surprise me anymore. But I didn't understand why.
So I am writing these little words out like a child that is lost. And the adult in my hears them and laughs and says. These words are written a thousand times before. These words are so badly written, I nearly have to laugh, Are you really going to publish this? This is the theme of all the sappy writers who are no goods. This is literature at its failure and you are just a little blogger in the ocean of words.
But it is my words, and it is my child, and it is my Pegasus wings.
And I am putting them on again!
!
I am a child - spreading my wings into imagination. I am air and water, pouring down my neck and giving me giggles as I run. I am a laughter from the belly and the knowing of being free. I am the anger that never stays long, and the joy of soft feet in warm water. I am the innocence that is not lost and the dream that has unicorn horn and Pegasus wings. I am the intense taste of a strawberry in your mouth and the excitement of waking up to a new day.
I walked away from you in my try to be someone I am not. I took duty and poured it into my pockets. I let society tell me my unicorn horn was childish and my Pegasus wings came from mythology. I let eyes that read my words call them amateuristic, or naive, or cliches, and I strived to be better, to be the best, to be good. I just wanted to survive. And through surviving I was dieing. I payed my bills and fill out the papers until the taste of strawberries didn't surprise me anymore. But I didn't understand why.
So I am writing these little words out like a child that is lost. And the adult in my hears them and laughs and says. These words are written a thousand times before. These words are so badly written, I nearly have to laugh, Are you really going to publish this? This is the theme of all the sappy writers who are no goods. This is literature at its failure and you are just a little blogger in the ocean of words.
But it is my words, and it is my child, and it is my Pegasus wings.
And I am putting them on again!
!
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