Flight

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She was an injured bird
and I wanted to tend to her delicately
because I knew what it was to be flightless.

But she had no interest in her wings
and I could not clip my own
to nest, motionless, forever.
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I'm a typical writer and I hate it

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I tick all the boxes of the quintessential 'writer', and it's only just now that I'm starting to see it. I never thought I was a stereotype, but find me a tick list of what it means to be a creative, a writer, a poet, and I'll meet every requirement going. I find beauty in the darkest of places, but I love to destroy it and watch it burn under my fingertips. I'm obsessive and go through phases. On good days I will write and write and write until my fingers bleed but I will still tell myself that my words are not good enough. That's the way I've always been - I feel destined for greatness, wasted in this monotonous life but always doubting my ability. Then come the down phases where I will barely even pick up a pen, and still wonder why I'm not where I want to be. I'm not scared of hard work but I am scared of my hardest being insufficient, so I pretend I'd rather not try to aim for greatness; that way I can't let myself down. It's easier to fail when you know you haven't tried your best, isn't it? But that's simply not true. It terrifies me that I may spend the rest of my life being a failure but I can't bring myself to succeed.  I revel in what it means to be miserable; I find comfort in the self destructive and even I don't know why. I think I'm obsessed with my own brokenness. I don't know if many people will openly admit that they are broken, but I will. This world is too much for me to bear, and most of the time I don't want to be in it.

I take solace in the night, staying up to watch the moon weaken and wan, breathing in the inky sky as it comes alive with bursts of light. I like the repetition of it all, as the world moves from day to night, from darkness to light and then back again. It's satisfying knowing that this will never change. Day will always make room for night, always has and always will. I don't know why I find this comforting, because I hate routine. I guess it's nice to know that there will be certainty in a place that I find so uncertain, even long after I am gone.


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